Match Me
by x nihilo
Summary: *Complete* Shunsui, with his vast knowledge of the shinigami psyche, plays matchmaker to the good, the bad, and the ugly. Nanao gets stuck with the paperwork. Now up: "Thursday Evening"
1. Paperwork

Nanao adjusted her glasses on her nose, frowning over her captain's newest undertaking. She shook her head and handed the papers back to Shunsui behind the Eighth Division office's desk, where he was, yes, actually sitting, something she rarely seen.

"I don't think this is such a good idea, Captain," she offered. "I think our fellow shinigami can find their own matches."

He leaned back in the chair and put his hands behind his head, tilting the straw hat over his eyes just enough he could still see her slender form. He didn't take the papers. "That's just it, sweet Nanao. Have you seen some of the low class material Captain Kuchiki's been hanging around since his wife's death?" He shook his head. "Shameful."

She held the papers closer to him, narrowing her eyes. "I don't think we should interfere."

He shrugged, grinning lazily at her. "We'll offer fifteen bucks for every completed application."

"Fifteen...We don't have that kind of money in the slush fund, Captain." She dropped the papers on the desk.

"I don't see what you're concerned about, Nanao. You said no one needs our help." He sat forward and spread his arms wide. "We won't have to shell out any money at all."

She looked from his smug expression to the application mock-up. "Why are you so willing to throw away money? If you're looking to empty our coffers, the Shinigami Women's Association needs new curtains and --"

"Let Captain Zaraki spring for new curtains. Or Captain Kuchiki. He can afford it," he said, raising an eyebrow at her. "We'll pay for dinner at a restaurant of our choice -- should be easy enough to get the establishments to foot the bill for that, publicity and all -- and a coupon for a second dinner if the couple decide to have a second date. Besides, I found a loophole in the expense forms. I think we can write it off as Division-related. What do you think?"

She watched him closely, knowing him too well to think he wasn't getting something more out of it, even if sheer amusement. "What's in it for you, Captain?"

He smiled, pulling a second chair nearer to his side of the desk. "Why, the sheer pleasure of seeing my comrades happy. It makes for a much more pleasant working environment." He patted the chair. "Shall we alter the application questionnaire?"

Nanao hesitated, looking at the proximity of the chair to his, and then slowly stepped around the desk. "Well, we certainly can't leave it as it is."

He nodded as she sat, fingers pressing on the application draft. "What's wrong with it?"

"For one thing," she said, leaning over the paper before them, "Question Four."

"What's wrong with Question Four? It's pertinent."

Her pencil tapped the question. "'Do you believe all the fan fiction written about you reflects your personal tastes?' We can't ask that."

He frowned at her. "Why not? It's germane."

"Do you know how many pairings that covers? For each person?"

"I know how much there is about _us_," he said leadingly, his elbow nudging her side.

She gave him a severe look.

He sighed and waved a hand at the paper. "Okay, scratch that one."

Nanao crossed off the question. "I don't read that stuff."

"Oh? I do." His eyes skimmed the questions. "Every bit of them."

She focused on the next part of the query. "You shouldn't."

He smiled. "Your glasses are steaming up, Nanao."

She ducked her head and wiped at the lenses with her sleeve. "That's because you're breathing on me." She looked back to the application. "Number Six has to go, too."

"'Was your last relationship a successful one?' What's wrong with that?"

She rolled her eyes. "If their last relationship was a success they wouldn't be filling out this application, Captain."

"Oh."

She crossed off the question. "If you can't even create an appropriate questionnaire, how do you expect to match anyone up?"

"I have an eye for beauty and an inkling for shinigami nature, my dear," he said generously. "You haven't noticed?"

She looked back at the paper, scooting her chair away a few inches.

Shunsui's hand closed on the leg of the chair and pulled her back. "Don't be like that."

She concentrated on the application. "You don't actually think anyone will respond to these, do you?"

He pushed his hat back so he could see her simmering features better, draping an arm across the back of her chair. "I figure we'd hand deliver them to a few prospects."

"Like who?"

"Well, Juushirou, Izuru --"

"Captain Ukitake?" she echoed. "I didn't think he was looking."

"He should be. The man's been alone for centuries. That does something to a person, Nanao. Have you no compassion?" he asked, unable to keep a chuckle from his tone.

"And who do you suppose you're going to match him with?"

He thought for a moment. "We'll just have to see who else fills out a questionnaire."

"It might be kind of hard. I've seen some of the fan fiction about him." She leaned closer only momentarily. "Not much there, Captain. Not if you take yourself out of the equation."

An alarmed look smacked across his face. "What? Oi, I thought you didn't read that stuff."

She blushed, eyes back on the application form. "I don't read _our_ stuff." She pointed to a question. "We can't ask the parameters for what is considered a '_good time'_. It's just not done, Captain."

"Sure, it is. All the time. Why, just the other day I was talking with ..." He stopped speaking as a prickly look crossed her face. "Not for such delicate ears, sweet Nanao. But I know for a fact," he continued as she mumbled something under her breath, "that Isane hasn't had a date in a decade. Not a real, tell-your-girlfriends-about-it-the-next-day date."

"Hmph. Who told you that?"

He grinned. "Her girlfriends."

She put a black line through the question. "You know we'll have to get at least two responses before you can work your magic," she said sardonically, looking at the space on the form left under '_Personal Comments'_.

He nodded, looking over the form, pleased with the questions remaining. "I think that can be arranged."

"Arranged?" she asked pointedly.

"Did I say arranged? I meant expected." His fingers tapped the side of her chair back. "How many questionnaires can you unload on the Women's Association?"

She shook her head.

He shrugged. "Take a dozen."

"We don't even have a dozen members, Captain."

"Have everyone fill out two."

She sighed as he stood up and put his hands on his hips. She frowned. "How can we treat for dinner without any restaurants in Seireitei?"

He returned her quizzical look, scratching the stubble at his neck. "I guess we'll have to get something catered." He shrugged and sauntered toward the door, pausing to turn and tip his hat to her. "I'll go drum up business. You make copies."

Nanao made a noise deep within her throat as he disappeared out the door. She looked at the form.

Some of the questions weren't too bad, she decided.

* * *

_**- Pairing Suggestions Being Taken -**_


	2. Drawing Lines

Nanao's violet eyes grew wide at the sight of the applications in Division Eight's official post box the next morning. Surely a mistake, she thought, pulling out the forms.

Three applications already? She sifted through them, feeling Shunsui's presence nearing from outside the office. She frowned at the addresses.

Division Three, Division Eleven, Division Seven.

"Ah, response so soon?"

Nanao recoiled and rolled the forms quickly as Shunsui strolled through the office door. He grinned at her discomposure.

"Ooh, how many?"

She rolled the questionnaires tighter. "What makes you think these are applications, Captain? Maybe they're legitimate Division correspondence."

He towered over her, enjoying the prim face she turned up to him. "Legitimate Division correspondence? No such thing." He smiled wider. "What have we got?"

She slipped past him and made her way to his office. "Nothing, unless you're planning on matching men-to-men."

He followed, watching the sway of her robes before him, nodding. "Well, it _has_ been done before."

She spun around. "Is that what kind of matching you're doing, Captain?"

He shrugged. "It's all over fan fiction. Loads of it."

She shook her head and continued on. "I don't see it."

In the office he stepped around her to pull out her chair -- beside his behind the desk -- and nodded to it. She gave him a shrewd look, and then sat down.

"Why don't you read the fan fiction, sweet Nanao?"

She put the roll of forms before her, hands still tight on them. "It's all a bunch of made-up stories, silly little fantasies."

"Oh, yes," he murmured, and then smiled when she looked to him abruptly. "But harmless. You should read some. They're good. Well, most of them are good. You should read the good ones. Don't read ... Just read them all, Nanao. Then you could make a report on the ones you like best, and maybe review the ones that get it wrong."

She shook her head and unrolled the applications. "I don't have the free time, Captain."

"Oh? You could start with my favorites." He pulled a folded paper from his haori and looked to her.

"You have a _list_?" she nearly sputtered, composing herself immediately. "You keep it with you?"

"Well...yes."

"Put that away, Captain." Good lord, how many times had she'd said that over the years? She shook her head. "Three questionnaires, all male," she said, brushing away the paper he tried to force on her. "We can't draw lines from that."

Shunsui pocketed his list and leaned over her shoulder to see the top application. "Oh, my. This is much worse than I thought." He lifted it to see the next form, shaking his head as he briefly read it. "These poor souls need my help more than I thought."

She held up the papers. "You can help these?" She adjusted her glasses and looked to one of the applications. "I doubt that; not without a little femininity thrown in." Her eyes narrowed on him. "And I mean that in the genuine female origin way, not simply feminine."

He dug around in his robes for a long moment, until she began to get nervous about what he was looking for, and pulled out several folded papers.

"We've got these, too, Nanao," he said, placing them on the desk.

She studied the applications. "From the Living World?"

"Why not? We know people there. Besides, they have better restaurants."

She shook her head. "I think should we should do this as accurately as possible." Her pen hovered over the first questionnaire name. "We should assign each applicant a number, record that number to the name on a list to be kept elsewhere, and use that number when we -- you -- select a match for the applicant. That way there'll be no bias."

He frowned, the brim of his hat touching the top of her head as he bent over the form. "That takes so much of the fun out of it, Nanao."

She looked at him above the rim of her glasses. "Do you truly want to match these with genuine like-souls or do you just want to draw lines between the names?"

He thought about the answer longer than he should have and she huffed a sigh.

"Of course I want to match compatible souls, but compatibility has so many facets. Don't you think?"

She looked back to the forms under his heavy attention. "I suppose." She tapped the pen on one questionnaire. "But none of these are matches, and even with these," she reached for the two from the Living World, "there's nothing. They're both male, too."

He read one of the applications. "You can't blame this one." He slid it over to her. "There are precious few Quincys left, and no females. Call it Quincy Two."

"Why Two? Do we have a Quincy One already?"

"He can't be One. I'm reserving that number."

Nanao wrote the number and name on a separate piece of paper and then wrote the number at the top of the application before crossing out the applicant's name. "Okay. Next?"

Shunsui smiled at the questionnaire before them, a paper that was wrinkled and taped in several spots, filled in with purple pen. "I expected his writing to be a little more legible, more professional, more," he chuckled, "_adult_. Call this one Expatriate One."

She nodded, recording the name and number on the list before drawing a thick black line through the applicant's name. "I think we'll need to fill out a second permission form for leave to the Living World."

"Leave those details to me, sweet Nanao." His arm settled behind her, scooting the chair an inch closer. "Now, about these Soul Society applicants, I guess we'll have to wait until we get -- Did you pass out the questionnaires at the Women's Association?"

"Yes, duplicates, too, just like you said," she told him, feeling his fingers toy at her shoulder. "What about these from the other Divisions?"

He leaned over the three applications, grinning at some of what was written in the '_Personal Comments'_ sections. "Assign them numbers based on Division and rank. That should do it."

"But then you'll know who the applicants are," she said, frowning at the questionnaire answers that had been scribbled out and rewritten so many times the paper had grafting holes. "I thought you were doing this scientifically."

"Science has its place, my dear, but not necessarily in matters of the heart," he said softly.

She focused on his face that had neared close enough she could smell the light musk he generally wore. She looked quickly back to the forms. "Where did you read that, Captain?"

"Hmm? Oh, a fan fiction last week," he admitted, fingers edging to where a tendril of dark hair had escaped the tightly wound coil at the back of her head, trailing down to the white of her collar. "You should read it, Nanao. Really quite good."

She shook her head, pulling the strand from his fingers in the process.

His other hand went to a pocket deep within the haori. "How about I read it to you?"

"I'll pass, Captain."

He sighed and placed another folded paper on the desk. "I forgot one. Not much to go on. Maybe you should fill in some of the questions for him."

Nanao unfolded the questionnaire and groaned when she realized whose scribble it was. "How are you even getting these from the Living World?"

He shrugged, grinning as he watched her eyes move over the form. "Word gets around."

She giggled at the few answers filled in. "He dearly needs help." She cleared her throat, her posture straightening in the chair. "I'm not sure if we -- you -- can help him, but he needs help."

Shunsui nodded, smiling at her profile. "Label that one Ryoka One."


	3. Female Applicant

Her hand paused over the questionnaire. It wouldn't hurt to complete it. After all, everyone got one. It wasn't personal. It wasn't a comment on her love life, or lack of love life.

Everyone got one.

It might be fun.

Besides, it was worth fifteen bucks, enough to buy those pearl earrings she'd seen at that boutique in Karakura Town last time she'd been there. And for two forms it meant thirty. Maybe she'd get the strappy sandals instead.

Questionnaires were demanded from everyone, except for Yachiru, who had managed to get paid for two forms despite not entirely participating.

Well, one had to expect the president of the Shinigami Women's Association to get perks, as if slinking around and catching the occasional glimpse of Byakuya in not much more than his underthingies on the way from the Kuchiki residence hot springs wasn't reward enough.

Not that she'd ever seen him, but Yachiru was florid in her descriptions.

Her pen paused over the form.

_Sexual Preference_.

"Male, of course," she said as she wrote the word on the line provided.

_Brief Physical Description Highlighting What You Believe to Be Your Best Feature_.

The more she thought about that one, the less _Bests_ she found. She lied about her height. Moving on.

_I Feel Most Vulnerable When_...

She frowned for a long moment. "At night when the nightmares come and I can't get away from them," she said aloud as she wrote, and then added, "and when I'm mistaken for a boy by people who only see my face."

_Most Attractive Attribute in a Mate._

"Sensitive with underlying strength when needed," she murmured, pen on the paper.

It took a few more minutes to complete the form, several answers having to be erased and others shored up with un-provable falsehoods.

She gave the questionnaire a smile, and then a sigh, and pulled the second form closer.

"Why two? Do they want the same answers?" she mused to no one in the back of the supply room. Not much time to finish the second form, she thought. Eleventh Division was due to finish training soon and the next round of casualties would be straggling in for treatment.

Maybe she could fill it in for someone else. She thought furiously. None of the women, as Nanao had made sure everyone had their own applications already. Yachiru had made a dot-to-dot on hers.

Think, think, think.

She brightened, one name coming to mind. She smiled and leaned over the form again.

"Division Three Vice-Captain Izuru Kira," she said as she wrote. "He sorely needs a woman. Raising a sword against Vice-Captains Hinamori and Matsumoto really sapped him."

_Brief Physical Description Highlighting What You Believe to Be Your Best Feature_.

She visualized for a moment, and then put the pen to the form. "Pale blond hair that sweeps devilishly to one side, blue eyes, moderately lanky build belying an understated masculinity..." She reconsidered what she'd written.

No, his eyes weren't quite blue, but not exactly hazel. Blue-green. Green-blue?

"Milky blue eyes," she said, writing. She sat back and sighed. Milky blue sounded weak. "Blue eyes," she rewrote. Best feature? "Emphasis on hair."

_List Any Previous Painful or Failed Relationships_.

She didn't think twice about _that_ answer. "Abandonment by traitorous captain and forced into uncomfortable position of leadership." She smiled at her work, and then scribbled it out. "They probably meant painful or failed _romantic_ relationships."

She wrote in _None_.

She looked over the answers, and then to the '_Personal Comments_' section. "I consider the best attributes in a woman to be dedication and intelligence, but also unafraid to be spontaneous," she wrote in her best penmanship.

She smiled at her work.

It was Vice-Captain Kira to a T.

* * *

**_- Pairings Suggestions Accepted -_**


	4. Match Me, Inc

Nanao studied the applications suspiciously the next day in her lieutenant's office, blowing a stray strand of dark hair from her eyes in the warmth of the midmorning. She looked back to the other three questionnaires, and then gathered them all together and went down the short hall to where her captain was spending an inordinate amount of time in his official captain's office.

She paused just outside the doorway, the door open as usual, seeing Shunsui lean over the teakwood desk, intent on the paperwork before him.

_If only he cared half as much about Eighth Division matters_, she thought. Not that he was a neglectful man, she knew, but his attentions seemed to focus more sharply on Division personnel than Division business.

"I don't mean to disturb you, Captain," she said tentatively, "but I think we've had a few misunderstandings."

He looked up, grinning at her hesitancy. "Come in, dear Nanao. Disturb me all you care to."

Her steps slowed at the phrasing. "I'm referring to this matching business you've undertaken." She placed the four applications before him on the desk. "It appears Vice Captain Izuru Kira has submitted four questionnaires."

"Oh? Hmm. That does seem a bit of overkill. He only asked for two forms." His smile broadened and he patted the chair already pulled beside his behind the desk. "Let's figure this out for the vice captain, shall we?"

She warily skirted the desk and sat in the chair, clearing her throat as he pulled the applications closer to them. "Why did he want two?"

Shunsui looked at the forms in question. "He said he didn't want to mess up, so he wanted a practice form." His eyes went from form to form. "He submitted two. No problem there, Nanao."

"There are four with his name on the applicant line. Should I assign each application a separate identification?"

He thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Clip them together, assign him one number, and we'll use all the forms as a composite of our much-described vice captain.

She tapped one of the four forms with Kira's name written at the top. "Under 'Physical Description' is written, '_Pale blond hair that sweeps devilishly to one side, blue eyes, moderately lanky build belying an understated masculinity_.'" She tilted her head and looked to him. "Does that sound like Vice Captain Kira to you, Captain?"

Shunsui made a lopsided shrug. "Sure, just like him, although the understated masculinity part might be an overstatement."

She shook her head. "Does it sound like something he'd write about himself?"

"Hmm, I see what you mean," he said slowly, leaning over the form. "Maybe he's talking himself up."

She wasn't convinced. She pulled the other three forms closer. "This one is his," she said, tapping a heavily edited form that had more inked-over answers than legible ones. "It practically drips with self-doubt."

He watched her shuffle the other applications until she found the one for which she was looking, her eyes fastened on the forms with more concentration than he'd expected from her. "These two were obviously submitted by others for Vice Captain Kira, too." She held up a questionnaire with loopy characters and smiley faces at the bottom. "This is definitely Vice Captain Matsumoto's work. I saw her make the smilies at the Women's Association."

"She's just trying to help out a friend," he said as his face suddenly perked a brighter smile. "Speaking of the Women's Association, I've made a match."

"You have?" She raised an eyebrow. "A _good_ match, Captain?"

He nodded, expression falling a little as she watched. "Since you've locked away the list of who's-who and left me with a bunch of faceless numbers, I can only hope my instincts are right."

He reached for a stack of well-worn questionnaires starting to curl at the edges in the humid day. He placed two before her, smiling in expectation of her opinion.

"What do you think of this?" He read from the first form. "She likes fair-haired men with a sense of mystery, likes to have a good time, and has just dissolved a long-term relationship." He flipped to the next form. "He's a fair-haired male, new to the dating scene -- there's mystery right there, Nanao; he's not all used up -- who's looking for some long-needed fun as his co-workers are constantly telling him to lighten up." He rested his arm on the back of her chair as she looked closer at the forms.

"Well," she said after a moment of study, pushing her glasses farther onto her nose, "they do seem to have a few strands of compatibility."

He watched her eyes reread parts of the questionnaires. "How many strands of compatibility do we need to make a good match?"

"I would say..." She became aware he was leaning closer than she deemed necessary as she read. She turned to look at him, grateful for the brim of his hat that kept him at a certain distance. "At least four points. Six would be better, for a first date."

He smiled, watching her lips move as she spoke. "Three, four. Close enough, I say."

Nanao eased away in her seat, pink tinting her cheeks. "I suppose three is a start."

"Good." He sat back in his chair, content to watch her nervously, needlessly arrange the other applications. "I'll make the reservations and have the notices sent to their division post boxes."

"Reservations? Where?"

"At the Soul Society Canteen." He saw a look of disenchantment cross her face. "Don't worry, sweet Nanao. I'll have them hold a captain's caliber table for our luckless hopefuls."

* * *

**First Up: Small Packages**

**_- Suggested Pairings Accepted -_**


	5. Small Packages

Hitsugaya accessed the Soul Society Canteen by way of the captains' entry, glancing around at the guests who may be witness to his advent into dating-dom.

Not many people eating for the early evening meal, he discovered with relief. He passed the larger tables and smaller inlets for private gatherings, and found the table his invitation had designated. It was located near the entry that adjoined the larger room that was primarily for lower ranked shinigami, mostly lieutenants and seated officers through fifth seats.

He found table Eight. It was set back in the foliage of ivy and eucalyptus that hung from the ceiling as a type of natural divider from the other tables, some which were similarly secluded. It was one of the smaller tables, with a booth seat to the back that wrapped semi-circularly around it, making an alcove of coziness in the fragrant greenery. He looked around, and then sat at the edge of the booth bench, hands fidgeting on the table before him.

It wasn't Hitsugaya's idea to fill out the questionnaire. Not really.

But the applications were all over the Tenth Division offices. In his stacks of paperwork, in his post box, between his spare hakama pants in his office closet. Most were half filled in with his ambitious lieutenant's wiggly writing, most filled in with answers that needed changing, he deemed.

"Like I need her help," he muttered, thoughts on his lieutenant. He looked up as a door opened in the next room and she walked in, her usual bouncy gait a little bouncier than usual.

Maybe it wasn't her gait that was bouncy, but...

"Hi, Captain!" Rangiku said cheerily as she found him.

Hitsugaya made an effort at not appearing smaller as she stood beside his table. "Hi, Matsumoto. I'm here for a reason, and I don't want company."

She puckered a pout. "Waiting on someone, are you?"

His eyes darted around the room for signs of someone else as she slid into the booth seat across the table. "Yes. Hey, don't sit down."

She rested her forearms on the table, giving him a crooked smile. "Why not?"

"You might drive her away." His eyes went to the room beyond her through the hanging ivy.

Her smile grew. "Is that any way to talk to your match, Captain?"

His eyes snapped to hers. "You?"

"Yes, me." She frowned at his look of horror. "Why not?"

Hitsugaya shook his head, sitting back from the table. "How you?"

"Well, this is table Eight, and I got the invitation." She put her elbow on the table and leaned her chin in the palm. "Someone obviously thinks we're a match."

They were interrupted by a gray robed server approaching their table with a large bottle of saké, two cups, and two menus. She bowed and smiled as she lit the short candle in the intaglio glass lamp between them.

"Can I take your orders, please?"

Hitsugaya flipped his menu open, blocking his view of the woman across from him, who only lifted her head to see him over the binder.

"What are you having, Captain?"

He kept his eyes lowered, then shook his head, and handed the menu back to the server. "Just bring me the skewered finger food specials."

"Very good, sir."

Rangiku gave her menu to the server. "Me, too. Lots of sauces."

The server bowed and left.

Hitsugaya glared at his lieutenant, who only gave him a charmingly goofy smile.

"...Why not?" she said to his unvoiced disapproval, lifting an eyebrow. "We _do_ know each other, Captain. I don't mind that you're shorter."

He gave her a pointed look.

"Lots of things come in small packages. Like jewelry." She pulled the cork from the bottle of saké. "Why not?"

He shook his head. "For one thing, there's the whole age thing." He watched her pour the two cups full of pale golden liquid. "That doesn't bother you? Because it would bother me."

She shrugged, pushing one cup to him. "You're old enough, Captain. You did fill out the application."

"How could I not? They were all over the office with my name on them. I only corrected the faulty answers."

"Oh, good, you found them." She downed her saké.

"You're too old for me, Matsumoto," he finally said, eyeing her as he drank half his saké in an attempt to not seem naive about it.

She shrugged, making her bosom lift and settle. The candlelight shone a muted glow through the lamp of cut red, blue, and gold glass. "Doesn't bother me."

"Hmph." He looked around the rooms. Of the few other filled tables, no one was staring.

"You're old enough. You must think so, too, Captain, or wouldn't be here."

He scowled as she refilled their cups. "I didn't know it was going to be you, Rangiku."

She smiled at his use of her name. "Since we're taking this to a new level --"

"We're not, Matsumoto."

"-- I was thinking --"

"Don't," he said.

She pursed her lips, then shrugged. "You don't think of me like that?"

"No."

"Ever?"

"No." He finished the cup in a swallow.

She sighed. "Hmm, well, that is too bad, Toshiro, because I think --"

"I don't want to hear it," he said sharply.

"... that it could do you some good," she said. "It's a start. I don't mind younger men."

"I'm too young," he said, reaching for the bottle and filling both their cups, feeling his nerves edge. "For you."

She watched him drink half the saké he poured before she leaned over the table. "I think the worst is passed. I haven't heard your voice crack in months, Captain."

He gulped the swallow, making an effort to not sputter warm saké all over the table. "Matsumoto..." he seethed.

"It's true." She moved her legs beneath the table, her knee brushing his.

He quickly moved his leg.

"And you are adorable," she added, smiling coyly.

He suddenly felt the impact of the saké in his head, making his shihakusho too warm. "Where the hell's our food?" He looked behind her to where the kitchen doorway was visible. "How long does it take to impale finger food?"

She frowned at him. "You're ignoring your date, Toshiro."

He gritted his teeth. "This isn't a date."

"That's what the agreement was."

He shook his head as she poured their cups full.

"Well, if not me, then someone. You're too cute to leave alone much longer. You need some companionship, Captain." Her arm crossed the table to him, hand ruffling his hair back despite his half-hearted attempts to push it away.

"Stop it, Rangiku," he grumbled, pawing at her arm.

"You don't like it that way?" She leaned closer to fluff the shock of white hair into tufts, her fingers gentle on his scalp.

"Matsumoto!"

"You don't like it that way either?"

It didn't help that her reach put her robes right over the candle, cleavage dancing in the firelight, so low he could nearly see where her sash was belted at her waist inside her robe. "Stop it."

She sat back down, giving him a grin. "I was just trying to put it back the way I see you wear it."

He hastily ran a hand through his hair, feeling her leg settle against his again beneath the table. "Stay out of my hair," he said with a slight wobble to his tone. It wasn't fair that his lieutenant's arms were so long, or that her shapely leg kept bumping his, or that she had more than ample accoutrements of the female variety. It was just her.

She sighed and drank her saké. "You don't think we should chance it?"

"No."

She moved the cup in slow circles, making the liquid inside swirl. "Just a little chance? Just the other day there was the slightest shadow on your upper lip --"

"Not you," he grunted for lack of ability to form better words through the slackness affecting his vocal cords since the last drink. He leaned his elbow on the table and set his chin in it, beginning to lose interest in their food order.

She studied his expression for a long moment. "Not me, but someone else?"

He nodded, sighing.

She poured the last of the saké from the bottle into his cup and nudged it closer to him, her smile changing. "Then let me help."

He tried to narrow his eyes at her but only succeeded in making a lopsided squint. "I don't need your help so very much, lieutenant."

She nodded, then perked up straighter, smiling brightly. "We should go shopping."

"Now? I don't want to."

"You need to get manly toiletries for your daily grooming, Captain." She wagged a finger at him. "Do this dating-thing right. Not that you're not adorably cute right now, but --"

"Stop it."

" ... I think you should be going for rugged and dashing, or fashionably dapper instead of cute."

"Leave my grooming to me," he said with a sigh as his view of her grew fuzzy around the edges. He tried to correct his vision by draining the cup before him.

She looked around at the other tables through their niche of foliage. "I won't show you how to use them, unless you want me to, Captain."

"No."

She spotted Shunsui tucked away in another corner, a look of slight surprise and amusement on his face as he watched their table. "I know who could show you the finer points of gentlemanly magnetism."

"Shut up, Matsumoto," Hitsugaya said blandly.

She smiled back at the short captain. "What do you say to a second date? We get a fifty-percent off meal coupon?"

His senses were too altered to argue with her, and she was beginning to appear to sway a little in the candlelight. "... Do you think you can find our way home, Rangiku?"

She smiled kindly at him. "Saké catching up with you, Captain?"

He sighed, both arms leaning heavily on the table. "I think it passed me up."

She nodded. "I'll get us home." She turned and signaled their server. "We'll take that to go," she called to her. She looked back to Hitsugaya. "Well, Toshiro, you're going to make some lucky girl very happy."

He shrugged, mind drifting. "About this whole grooming thing," he said slowly, "I was thinking about woodsy musk cologne ..."

* * *

**Favorite pairings? Take the Poll!**


	6. IQ vs Personality

At the back of Urahara's shop a tug-of-war was ensuing, both Ururu and Jinta's hands on the forms that had been found in Urahara's wastebasket during their daily cleaning.

"Let go! I found them!" Jinta yelled, grabbing one of her pig-tails.

Her mournful face set, but she didn't relinquish the papers. "I found them. You know I did."

"Let go!"

Ururu made a quick tug, jerking the forms from him, the release sending him into the garbage can behind him.

She sat on the back porch step as he pulled himself from the debris and waved wildly at her.

"It's my job to empty the garbages! They're mine!"

She held them closer to her chest. "If you had done your job you'd have found them." A small smile hinted at her mouth as she looked down at the forms. "I found them."

He begrudgingly sat beside her on the step. "What are they?"

Her dark eyes flicked over the top form. "I think it's an I.Q. quiz."

He hovered over her shoulder, squinting at the questions. "No. It's a personality test, like the ones in the newspaper. To see which animal you're most like."

She shook her head, pig-tail bobbing in his face until he slapped it away. "I.Q."

"Personality."

"I.Q."

"Personality!" He emphasized his point with a shove.

Ururu rocked a bit, but remained on the step. She flipped over the form to see _Soul Society, Division Eight_, written on the back.

Jinta huffed. "He's smarter than anyone in Soul Society. Why didn't he fill it out?"

"Maybe he doesn't want to brag." She wrote _Kisuke Urahara_ at the top blank marked _Name_, and read the first line. "'_Sexual Preference_.'" She wrinkled her face.

A smile twitched at Jinta's lips. "I think he prefers being a man. See, it's a personality thing, not I.Q."

She leaned over the form on her bent knees and found a stubby pencil in her pocket, then wrote _Male_ in the space provided beside the questionnaire selection.

"_'I consider myself mostly (describe here your emotional outlook)_.'" She looked to Jinta. "Smart," she said, writing, "clever, mechanically inclined ... hmm, that's not very emotional."

"Write happy."

Ururu gave him a sad look. "He does smile a lot."

Jinta nodded in a rare moment of agreement.

She wrote down _happy_.

He read ahead. "Do Nine."

She looked to the question. "_'Do you consider yourself a dog or cat person?_'" She giggled. "Definitely a cat person."

He frowned at the next question. _"'What quantities do you look for --'"_

"Qualities," she corrected.

_"'... in a match.'"_ His scowl deepened, one hand scratching his red head in bewilderment. "What does that matter?"

"Intelligent people like other intelligent people so they can talk better to them," she guessed.

"Write smart," he said, looking to the doorway behind them as heavy footsteps approached. "Hurry up. Tessai-san is coming."

"You better get to sweeping."

"You sweep!"

She turned away from him to complete the form. "_'Physical Description.'"_ She frowned, looking at the other questions as Jinta pulled at her shoulder. "That's an odd question."

"Hurry up! We have to do the others, too."

"Who else should we do?" She tried to give him a thoughtful look, but he only made a grab for the forms. "I'll bet Tessai-san is smart."

"Jinta! Ururu!"

They both flinched as Tessai's voice boomed out the doorway.

"Hurry up," the boy urged her.

She folded the forms into thirds and then in half again. "We better finish them later and do our chores now, Jinta."

He was about to protest when Tessai's shadow fell over them from behind. "What are you two up to? You're supposed to be sweeping the shop."

Ururu stuck the papers in her pocket and stood up before Jinta could swipe them from her. "Yes, right away, Tessai-san!"


	7. Lonely at the Top

Gin hunched over the questionnaire in the back room off the main shoot of corridors in the Las Noches interior, intent on the form before him on the table.

"Would ya say Aizen is more intolerant or fanatically condescending in his views toward subordinates?" he asked Ulquiorra across the table.

Ulquiorra gave him a blank look. "Just put trash. It's all the same to him." He looked back down at his own form he was copying from an unanswered questionnaire.

Gin scratched the back of his head, frowning at the form. "I think there's a difference." He crumpled up the paper and reached for another Ulquiorra had so meticulously copied from the first.

Ulquiorra gave him his most stoic glare. "Can't you just erase a mistake instead of starting over with a new form?"

"Not very professional."

Ulquiorra looked to the six forms wadded into balls against the wall. "All this technology at Szayel's disposal and he can't build a decent copy machine?"

Gin printed Aizen's name at the top of the form. "Not a priority."

Ulquiorra copied the questionnaire precisely. "Why do I have to make the copies?"

"You got the best penmanship."

Ulquiorra sniffed a sigh. "I outrank Grimmjow. He should be doing this grunt work."

"Can't read the bastard's handwriting. Yours is just like it was mechanically printed." Gin wadded up another form and tossed it on the pile at the wall.

"Stop that, Ichimaru," Ulquiorra said.

"Stop your bellyaching, Number Four," Gin said, beginning another questionnaire. "Maybe if Aizen gets himself matched up he'll stop busting our balls every time something goes a little wrong." He sat back and looked at his work. "How's this? '_Self-made entrepreneur skilled in world domination and soul destruction seeks love interest. Must succumb well to authority and be resilient_.' What do ya think?"

"I think only a fool would answer."

Gin nodded, eyes on the form. "Maybe, maybe. Best physical feature would be hair, don't ya think?"

Ulquiorra kept his eyes on his work. "His hair is fake."

Gin looked up quickly. "Fake? Really?"

Ulquiorra nodded. "Fake."

"Ya sure?"

"I'm positive."

Gin shrugged, crushed the form in his hands and dropped it on the floor. He reached for another form as Ulquiorra shot him a staid look that verged on annoyed. He wrote for a long moment, without breaking his rhythm, grinning as he put pen to paper.

"I see you figured it out," Ulquiorra said as his superior smiled more at the form.

Gin erased a line and rewrote his answer. "Would you say my hair is white or silver?"

"You're filling one out?"

Gin frowned. "Why not?"

"You're a back-stabbing traitor, to most of the worlds, for a start," Ulquiorra began. "You broke the soul of a female who spent nearly her entire death with you, you sabotaged another female who erroneously trusted you, no one in the fandom wants to meet you in a dark alley, your only redeeming quality is knowing Rangiku Matsumoto --"

"Okay, I get the picture, Number Four," Gin muttered, turning back to his form. "Ever since ya got swept together and rehydrated you've been a real bore, ya know that?"

Ulquiorra set one finished form to the side, eyes on Gin before he began copying the next form.

"I seen that," Gin told him.

Ulquiorra made no reply.

Gin tapped the pen on the table. "So, ya think my hair is white, or silver, Number Four?"

Ulquiorra looked at him for a moment. "In the manga or in the anime?"


	8. Viewpoints

Nanao shuffled the questionnaires, putting the ones with the most frayed edges on top -- the ones that had been handled the most. Of these, Izuru Kira's led, the attached forms verging on a file rather than a single page application, but his was currently missing.

She smiled, adjusting her glasses over her nose. Her new identification filing system was in order, complete with non-Division numbers in place, a purely scientific and logical classification that would omit bias from her over-meddling Captain.

She set them to one side and turned her attention to another mundane chore. She pulled the order form from the second stack and began filling it out.

"No bleach, no starch, extra fabric softener," she said aloud as she placed the laundry order for one extra large haori. "Line dried outside, in the shade to prevent the sun from fading the soft colors and detailed embroidery."

She frowned and erased the words '_soft'_ and '_detailed_.' _No need to include those_, she thought.

It was the same order and instructions every week, and every time the haori was returned smelling of the fresh outdoors, faintly of Shunsui's aftershave -- which Nanao was quite sure a permanent scent ingrained in the fabric by now -- an identifiable fixation she knew as well as his reiatsu.

She placed the laundry work order to one side and looked to the next piece of business. For a long moment she wasn't sure what it was. She read for a half a page of dialogue before it became apparent what she was looking at.

Her eyes grew wide, and a blush settled deep within her cheeks as she quickly folded it and pushed it aside.

Fan fiction. A rather racy scene, too. Their names practically leaped off the page at her.

She looked to the open doorway, and tentatively reached for the folded paper again, pulling one side open just enough to see a few lines, just enough to flame the blush back into her cheeks. She blamed it on the heat of the afternoon. She creased the fold in the paper sharper and pushed it away.

She looked up as Shunsui appeared in her office doorway, a grin on his unshaven face, a couple of questionnaires in his hand.

"Nanao, my sweet, come see how well I've matched these two," he called with a wave.

Nanao waited until he had disappeared out the doorway before she stood, taking a moment to breathe deeply and abate her rattling nerves and spiked pulse. She put the laundry order on top the fan fiction pages, and went to her captain's office.

"I think you're going to like this one," he said from the side of the doorway as she stepped inside.

She yelped, startled, and sidestepped, flinching with such a jolt she had to push her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

He looked to her in surprise. "Why so jumpy today, Nanao?"

She brushed her robes of non-existent wrinkles, working the fluster out of her system, the words from the fan fiction scene still in her mind. "No reason, Captain. What, what ... what did you want to show me?" She prepared herself for the answer, reminding herself he hadn't read the story, just her.

He studied her closer, smiling slowly. "What are you so worked up about, sweet Nanao?"

"Nothing," she said hastily. She attempted a smile. "You've matched someone?"

"Aye, yes. A good match." He gestured to the two chairs behind his desk. "Sit down and I'll show you who our lucky applicants are."

She sat nervously behind the desk, steeling herself as he took the chair next to her, willing to remain calm, and stop the loud thumping in her ears that seemed to be from her heartbeat. _Approach it head on_, she told herself.

"I found the oddest papers in the weekly work orders, Captain." She raised an eyebrow, refusing the blush that threatened to tint her cheeks again.

"Oh?" He smiled, spreading the two applications before them on the desk. "Anything you like?"

"Captain, I do not read our fan fiction, and I do not intend to start." She looked down at the questionnaires. "Vice Captain Kira?"

He nodded, and then reached into his pocket and pulled out a few folded pages. "How about something from my point-of-view?" He looked down at the papers and read_. "'She gave me her usual look of disdain, but I knew that beneath that prim exterior there beat the heart of_ --'"

"Captain ..."

"'... _a lusty woman who had filled my life with unending _--'"

"Captain!" Her hand rolled one of the questionnaires in absence on her book. "Please stop."

He looked up from the paper. "That's not how it goes, Nanao." He appraised her mild distress, and found another folded paper from a second pocket. "How about something from your point-of-view?"

"No, I don't want --"

"'_It had been a long time, much too long, since he'd last visited my humble quarters, and I yearned for --'"_

"No!"

"No? Something from third person narrative? Omniscient point-of-view. It's a little more passive voice, but still --"

"No!" She snapped to her feet, nearly knocking her chair over.

For a moment he simply returned her fierce look, and then carefully reached into his desk drawer and found a paper. "I have one story where you mourn my death. You're a lovely widow in it trying to move on after my passing. Very eloquent. How about that?"

"I don't want to read something about your death." She looked at him more sharply. "Your _widow_?"

He nodded readily. "How about a collection of vignettes about our early years of marriage?"

"Captain, I do not need someone else's imagination! I have my own, thank you very much." A look of dread came over her face, pulse rocketing once again. "What I meant, was that, I ... I don't ..." She wanted to wipe that smug smile off his face, make him feel as awkward as she did at times like these, which were becoming more frequent.

He smiled and patted the chair beside his. "Come sit, Nanao. Don't fluster yourself over someone else's collection of words. I'll show you who our vice captain is matched with, and you'll see I know the shinigami heart."

She took her chair and looked to the applications, wishing her rapid heartbeat to stop leaping in her veins. For a moment she tried to focus on the questionnaires, but found it difficult, as the images newly introduced from her captain's venture into fan fiction had taken hold.

"As I see it," Shunsui was saying, "our vice-captain needs someone bright and lively, someone cheery to pull him out his, well, himself, and breathe some life into him." He tapped the second form. "I think she could do it."

Nanao nodded, hoping to appear composed. "But I don't think he's been to the Living World alone before, Captain, and certainly not for leisure."

"No worry. We'll send someone with him who's been quite often. Not a chaperone, mind you," he said, hovering closer as her eyes reread the questionnaire, "but a little supportive."

She ignored his proximity, collecting the forms busily. "I'll have the reservations and notifications arranged."

"Good." He sat back as she rose and straightened the forms again, watching her fingers tremble slightly. He smiled as she rounded desk, tucking a stray hair behind her ear as she went. "Be sure to send an escort."

"I will, Captain." She hurried out of the room without looking back.

Shunsui sighed as she left, smiling wider. Such a stubborn, exquisite, fragrant little flower, his Nanao.

* * *

**Next Match: Opposites Attract**


	9. Opposites Attract?

Izuru walked beside Renji on the sidewalk running through Karakura Town's restaurant district which leaned heavily toward family fare and group gatherings. The evening was still and warm, little air circulating among the tight streets, the sidewalks shifting with diners in search of a meal.

Izuru wiped his hands down his denim blue button-up shirt that Renji had said matched his black pants. "I don't think this is such a good idea, Renji," he said as the red-haired man stopped under a sign over a wide window running along a restaurant's front. "I don't know anything about this girl. A _Living_ girl, no less. I don't even know anything about functioning in the Living World."

"You'll do fine," Renji said, looking in the window between the fanciful blue kanji marking the eatery's name. "It looks like a decent place."

Izuru took a worried step back, nearly bumping into a couple as they passed, still unaccustomed to tangible interaction. "I can't get used to this gigai. It's so slow."

Renji nodded, eyes on the tables inside the building. "The ones from Urahara are even more confining." He shrugged at the view inside the window. "It looks like a sit-down place. Just think of it like the Soul Society Canteen." He frowned, spotting a long section of counters where people were standing with plates. "There may be a buffet."

"A buffet?" Izuru brushed the blond shock of hair from his face and looked farther into the restaurant. "What does that mean?"

"It means you go get your own food." Renji reached for one of the double doors. "Good luck."

"You can't leave, Renji," Izuru said, pushing the door shut.

Renji chuckled, hand tight on the door. "I sure as hell ain't staying, Izuru. She's a Living girl. How bad can it be?"

Izuru's expression dipped as he looked back into the window. "What if she doesn't like me?"

"She'll like you. She likes everyone."

"But what if she doesn't like me?"

"Then don't have another date." Renji tugged the door open. "No big deal."

Izuru frowned. "She's not very selective?"

"I'm not saying that. I'm saying she's nice."

Izuru didn't move toward the open door, but rather stepped back to look through the window. "What does she look like?"

Renji let the door shut and gathered his patience. "She's pretty. She's got auburn-brown hair, brown eyes, smiles a lot, and is one of the more pleasant Living I know. What's not to like?"

"Come in and introduce us."

"I'm not coming in."

Izuru shoved his hands deep in his new pants pockets. "But what if she doesn't like _me_?"

Renji opened the door, grabbed his fellow shinigami's arm and pushed him through. "Get your ass in there and make a good impression, Kira."

Vice Captain Kira found himself caught in the hostess-limbo that was the "_Please Wait to be Seated_" area. He stood at the sign on the post, looking around at the diners he could see at the tables, ranging from two- to eight-seat tables, most surrounding a double row of buffet counters.

His eyes moved among the people at the tables and booths.

Auburn hair, brown eyes, smiles. Auburn hair, brown eyes, smiles. Auburn hair, brown --

Orihime caught his attention at a corner table for four and waved, smiling.

Izuru noticed, and found himself smiling. Renji could have told him the girl's pink blouse was filled-out in the manner of Rangiku, he thought as he zigzagged among the table to where she sat. That would have helped find her. She stood immediately when he reached the table and bowed quickly, smoothing her yellow flowered skirt.

"Hi! I'm Inoue Orihime," she said with another smile. "I'm blood type B, and in the Handcrafts Club."

"Hello." He offered a short bow. "Kira Izuru."

Her eyes followed his movements, her face suddenly falling, an instant blush reddening her cheeks. "Can we sit down?"

"Sure..."

The took seats on opposite sides of the table, she looking more uncomfortable as he scooted his chair closer to the white table cloth, her fingers tapping nervously before her. She offered up a smile, her voice unsteady when she spoke.

"V-vice Captain Kira?"

"Yes, but don't call me vice captain," he said, wanting to ease her sudden timidity. "You can call me Izuru, if you want."

"Oh? Oh. Okay, Kira-san," she added as her smile fell away again.

He looked to the people milling around the two counters of buffet dishes as a waitress approached their table.

"Hello, welcome to Shingo's Surf and Turf," the woman said with a short bow. "Would you care for menus or the buffet this evening?"

Orihime's smile popped back into place. "Menu? Is that okay with you, Vice -- Kira-san?"

"Sure, sure."

The waitress handed them each a menu, bowed, and left the table. Izuru opened the bi-fold menu, groaning as he looked over the complicated dish names and colorful photos. For a few long moments he and Orihime studied the menus.

"You don't want to call me Izuru?" he asked after the pause.

Orihime looked up from her menu, her finger on one of the menu photos. "I will. Izuru." She closed the menu and placed it on the table. "So ... which Division are you vice captain of?"

"Three." He set the menu to one side and looked to her smiling face.

"Three is a nice number." She nodded. "Easy to write."

He nodded, sighing, looking around at the other diners before glancing back to her. Renji was right, she was indeed pretty. Not beautiful, he thought, but pretty.

The waitress returned and they placed their orders, Izuru a little surprised and slightly worried about the amount and variety of foods she ordered. He looked her over again. She certainly wasn't fat.

When the waitress left, they were stuck staring at each other. She seemed to feel the lag in conversation acutely.

"Have you been here often?" she finally asked.

"No, not much. A few times in academy training," he said, watching her fingers play with the rolled napkin on the placemat. "But you've been to Soul Society."

"He-he, yes," she said with a nod and giggle. "Did you find your way around Karakura okay?"

He nodded slowly. "Abarai came, too."

"Oh?" On impulse her gaze swept the room for the other shinigami.

"He's not here," Izuru told her. She looked back to him, eyes dropping to the table.

"Uh, Kira-san, I think ... " She frowned, looking at her placemat, finger tracing the red and gold detailing for a few seconds before lifting to his face once more. She smiled. "I must say, you dress well for not visiting the Living World very often."

He grinned, pleased. "Do you think so?"

"Oh, yes." She nodded, waving a finger at him. "Very sharp. I think Kurosaki-kun has a pair of pants just like those."

He leaned his elbows on the table, resting on them with growing ease in her company. "You go to school with Kurosaki?"

"Yes." She nodded, sighing a little, smile slipping. "But he's not in the Crafts Club." Her smile perked up as the waitress arrived with their order.

It took a full seven minutes to unload the two trays of dishes, most centering around Orihime's side of the table. She blushed as the number of dishes amounted, pushing some of them to the center between them.

"I think I ordered too much," she admitted sheepishly. "We can share. There's so much. It was a very good voucher Captain Kyouraku sent for the meal."

"Oh, yes, very generous."

For a few moments they were each occupied with filling their plates, a few awkward times both reaching for the same set of serving spoons, a couple chuckles when Izuru managed to knock over the tamari sauce bottle into his rice, turning the white grains brown instantly.

Talk turned to small topics at first, and then eventually to Soul Society, Division Three, in particular, and Izuru discovered that his rootbeer drink was actually a soda and not beer at all. Very disappointing. He sighed. No wonder she had had no qualms about guzzling hers.

"So, you don't like being a captain?" she asked.

He watched her pour hoisin sauce on her curry chicken, followed by a thick dollop of mustard and a spoonful of marshmallow cream she had requested of the waitress. He couldn't help but cringe as she smoothed the condiments on the spicy chicken and took a large bite.

"No, not so much," he said to her question, his stomach churning at the sight of her plate. "I'd be happier just staying vice-captain."

She nodded, and then her face took on a sudden flush as he dropped his napkin into his lap. He looked down and reached for it.

To his horror, Izuru found his _Naruto_ boxers staring back up at him through his open fly zipper. His eyes shot to Orihime, who noticed his discomposure, and lowered her eyes to her plate, one hand casually angled in front of her view of him.

He tried to nonchalantly zip the closure with one hand, succeeding in snagging one side of the zipper teeth, leaving half of _Naruto_ sticking out in shocking orange and blue cotton. He glanced at Orihime, who was intent on shoveling the heavily sauced chicken into her mouth. After a futile moment of tugging on the zipper, Izuru pulled with both hands behind his side of the table, feeling the agitation rising with agony as the zipper became hopelessly lodged. In desperation he tried to stuff the orange briefs back into the pants opening, but only so much could fit back through the inch of space.

When he looked to Orihime this time she was trying not to watch, determined to find interest in the ingredients she'd piled on her plate, interest in anything other than his battle with _Naruto_.

He folded his hands on the table before him, feeling the soft lights from the decorative paper lanterns overhead burning holes through his skull. At least, that was how it felt.

Orihime had just about cleaned her plate. She finally looked to him, a reserved expression on her blushing face. "I know the voucher includes dessert," she said as he thought _please no_, "but I'm full." She attempted a tremulous smile. "How about you?"

"Uh, well, I could forego dessert." He tried not to drum his fingers on the table, but they were already rattling a tattoo. "I've really enjoyed your company, Inoue-san, but would you mind I didn't walk you home this evening?"

"Oh, sure!" she said a bit too cheerily. "I know my way home." She swallowed down the last of her rootbeer and got to her feet. "It was nice to meet you, Kira-san." She rummaged through her small purse and put her free-meal voucher on the table. "Thank you so much. Goodnight!"

With that she wove among the tables filling with the after-movie crowd and left out the front doors. Izuru watched her go, relieved and becoming more miserable at the same time at her departure. He looked down at his snagged boxers, and then to where a little boy at another table was pointing and laughing. The boy's mother smacked his hand down and admonished him.

Izuru sighed, and then grabbed a steak knife and began to cut the excess _Naruto_ material from his pants.

* * *

Renji sat on the park bench watching the metal and wooden contraptions awaiting assembly on the other side of the grassy acreage in the cool of the evening as he waited for Izuru to have his date. Karakura Town Park was exceptionally large, but it was well-maintained and flanked with mature cherry and dogwood trees.

Damn gigai, he thought, hating the confining living-wear he'd been forced into. So stifling.

He'd studied the stacks of metal poles and rails laid out in the park for a long while, but he still couldn't determine what they were. He was still watching the piles of steel and tarp-covered mounds of other materials when a familiar auburn head got his attention from the sidewalk to his right.

By the time he caught up with Orihime she was turning the corner of the sidewalk to the last section of the park.

"Hey, how'd it go?" he asked, then dodged a flying backhand as she responded in attack mode. "Whoa, it's just me, Inoue-san."

"Oh!" She made a quick bow and relaxed her tight clutch on her purse. "Sorry, Abarai-san. I thought you were a purse-snatcher."

"No. Just nosey about Izuru." He fell into step alongside her as she took up her walk again. He glanced behind them to see the sidewalk empty before looking back to her. "He's not around?"

"Oh. No." Her cheeks hinted pink at the mention.

Renji grinned at her reaction. "Hey, you liked him."

"He seems nice." She wrapped both arms around her purse and held it to her chest. "A little morose."

He shrugged, nodding. "Usually a lot." His eyes went to the piles of metal poles. "What are they doing to the park?"

She followed his gaze. "This summer is the sesquicentennial anniversary of the park. They're going to have carnival rides, and food booths, and lots of activities for the kids."

He nodded, the tarped piles making a little more sense to him. "When is that?"

"In a few weeks, I think. It was in the newspaper last week, but I didn't read the entire article." She relaxed her grip on her purse.

He cleared his throat, looking to the next block of sidewalk as they left the park perimeter. "Did you like him?"

Her cheeks colored, this time accompanied by more of a giggle. "He's okay, for a vice-captain. I didn't realize he was such an important shinigami."

He frowned. "You don't think vice-captains are important?"

Her eyes widened at him. "Oh, I do, but I didn't know he was a vice-captain."

His scowl intensified. "I'm a vice-captain, too."

"You are?" She nodded slowly. "That's right. I think I knew that."

He shook his head as they continued on. "Well, do you want to see Izuru again?"

Her cheeks grew warm, and Renji misread the flush.

"Ha! You do like him."

She giggled, putting a hand over her mouth. "Did you know he's a _Naruto_ fan?"

"He is?"

She nodded, smiling wider at him.

"Are you?"

She nearly flinched into stepping off the sidewalk, giving him a shocked look.

He shrugged. "Lots of girls like _Naruto_, Inoue-san." He frowned. "What's the big deal?"

She slowed her pace, and he did, too. "You promise not to tell anyone?"

"Sure. I don't care if you like _Naruto_ or _Dragonball Z_ or _Vagabond_. Does it matter?"

She smiled a little more, and then cupped her hand to her lips and stood on tiptoe to lean closer to his ear.

He grinned as she spoke, partly because her breath was warm, and partly because of what she whispered. "Oh, yeah?" he said as she resumed walking.

She nodded. "But you can't tell him I said that."

He chuckled. "That's why you didn't get the buffet?"

She nodded again as she saw her apartment building come into view two blocks ahead.

"I guess I should go find him," he said, trying not to visualize his fellow shinigami with his current wardrobe malfunction.

"Thanks for walking with me, Abarai-san," she said with a smile. "Goodnight."

Renji nodded and turned to head back down the sidewalk to find Izuru.

* * *

_**-Pairings Suggestions Accepted-**_


	10. Corner in Tenth

Rangiku made her way down the warm sunny streets of Division Ten's compound that morning, a little earlier than usual, a mission on her mind.

After long and thorough deliberation, she was still adamant about nudging her pint-sized captain into his impending young adulthood.

She smiled as she walked. More than willing to nudge him, actually, but she could see his reasoning about ages and propriety. She'd thought long and hard about a practical mentor.

She entered the Division Ten offices and found her desk, strangely feeling the absence of his reiatsu, as he was always earlier than her in coming in in the morning.

After a few moments she became aware of the cursing -- low-key cursing -- from the back quarters, a hidden corner of the building where Hitsugaya kept his more personal office and other matters. She followed the muted noise to where the small bathroom was partitioned off from his back office, an area she had visited only infrequently.

She moved slowly toward the sounds of water running and Hitsugaya's frustrated mumbling.

Inside the open door of the bathroom he was hunched over the sink, razor in hand, intent of his lathered image in the oval wall mirror. He scowled at his reflection, a bag of hygiene products on the vanity beside him.

Rangiku smiled, half in genuine appreciation, half in sisterly mischief. "Ooh, getting all spiffy, are we?"

In response Hitsugaya carved a new notch in his chin. "Dammit, Matsumoto, what're you doing here?"

He tapped the razor against the sink, a mere few hairs coursing into the basin.

She leaned against the wall beside the mirror, smiling. "Getting all handsome for anyone in particular, or just for office, Captain?"

He put a tissue to his chin, frowning at her profile in the mirror. "This is your doing, lieutenant."

She raised an eyebrow, taking the last step to him. "How am I responsible for this new spurt of man-growth?"

"Shut up," he muttered, putting the razor edge to his cheek again.

She watched for a moment as he pulled the blade along his smooth cheek, hand unfamiliar with the new territory.

She angled her head at his reflection. "You missed a few spots, Captain."

His eyes narrowed on the mirror. "There wasn't much hair there anyway."

A small trickle of red seeped from his chin. Rangiku wound a wad tissue and dabbed at it. He looked at her.

"If you care for some advice," she said, touching the tissue to the small spot of blood, "shave against the hair growth."

"Oh. Well, I guess." He looked in the mirror, which was a little too tall for him.

She took the razor from him and gave him a small smile. "It's a delicate movement, Captain," she said, drawing the edge of the razor against his throat in an upward fashion as her fingers lifted beneath his chin. "Only a dull razor blade needs to scrape. Take your time, and you'll get better results."

Her fingers left his chin, and the edge of sharpened metal maneuvered along the angles of his jaw, stopping at his cheek. He watched her eyes lowered over his face, a slight smile at her coral lips. She tapped off the residue from the razor -- mostly foam -- in the sink basin, and rinsed it.

"Got a hot date tonight, Captain?"

He frowned, not allowing the expression to affect the movement of metal against his skin as she drew the razor upward again at his cheek. "No, but I wanted to practice some before it was necessary."

She nodded, a smile at her lips. "I do miss this part," she said beneath her breath, catching herself from saying more. She gave him a grin and leaned closer, eyes on the angle of face that was shadowed by the overhead light. "Not bad."

He took the razor from her. She leaned against the wall once more, watching him attempt another swipe with the razor over the small patch of foam left on his face.

She observed for a moment, then looked to the bag of bottles he had on the other side of the vanity. "Ooh, goodies."

"Leave those alone," he said as she reached across the sink, blocking his view of the mirror, pulling out several bottle of cologne and aftershave.

"You got the good stuff." She opened a green bottle and sniffed it. "Very nice. Woodsy." She opened an amber bottle of aftershave. "Nice, but this stuff will sting like a bonfire, Captain," she warned. She rummaged through the other products as he reached across her back to the towel ring.

"Leave my stuff alone, Matsumoto."

She took two more bottles as he retrieved the hand towel and wiped his face. "These," she said, holding up two of the products with a nod, "are what you need." She opened the caps, took a discriminating sniff of each, and nodded. "This is good for you," she said, handing him a bottle, "and so is this," she handed him the other bottle. She took another whiff of a third bottle from the bag and set it to the side. "That's good, but not on you."

"What do you mean, not on me?" He took a sniff of the first two bottles.

"Some scents are good but not on everyone. This is very seductive, but those two are better," she said, nodding at the first two bottles. "Irresistible."

Under her influence, he shook out a sprinkle of liquid from the first bottle of aftershave on his hands and raised his palms to his face.

"No!" She grabbed his wrists in a vice-like hold before his hands touched his skin. "That'll catch you on fire, Captain." She patted her hands in his and touched them gently to his cheeks.

Which still sent him howling in flaming pain. "Ugh! Matsumoto!"

She pulled his hands down as he pressed them to his cheeks trying to squelch the tenderness. She smiled, taking the towel and dabbing it at the inflamed skin. "It'll cool soon, and you'll smell wonderful."

He balled his hands into fists, staring at himself in the mirror, expecting his face to glow red.

But it didn't. It just sizzled in flesh tone. After a moment he felt better, and smelled, well, pretty good.

She smiled mischievously at him, pushing his light hair back from his face. "Very handsome, Captain."

He cleared his throat, watching her lean against the wall again. "You think so?"

"Oh, yes." She sighed, eyes lingering on him, and then raised an eyebrow. "So, do you think you'll have enough to shave next week?"

He muttered something she didn't entirely hear, watching her press her back to the wall. "Maybe."

She watched him for a long moment, and then nodded, and moved past him on her way to the door. "Let me know if you need help, Captain."

He looked at her retreating form, at odds with himself over her willingness to help. "You promise not to tell anyone, Rangiku?"

She nodded, turning to give him a smile as she paused at the door. "Sure thing."

"... Thanks."

She left out the bathroom door, and Hitsugaya considered his reflection in the mirror.

"Too old," he told himself. "Much too old."


	11. Noble House of Kuchiki

Renji found Rukia sitting on the rooftop of one of Sixth Division's storage buildings that evening, her back facing him as she sat at the low pitch peak, head lowered over something before her.

"Hey, here you are," he said, startling her into flinching away. He caught the back of her black robe as she wobbled on the peak.

She smacked his hand away, stabilizing her perch, and clutching a ledger close to her chest as she threw him a quick glare. "You brute! I'm working on something."

He cocked an eyebrow, grinning as he sat beside her. "Oh, yeah? What?"

She eased the ledger away, still keeping it hidden from his view. "Not for you to see."

He drew up his knees and rested his forearms on them, looking out over the setting sun spreading warm amber tones over Sixth Division. Out of the corner of his eye he watched her curl her knees to one side and lean over the ledger again, her pen to paper. "Who's it about?"

"Nothing that concerns you, Renji."

"Oh. Kurosaki. I see."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "But it's nice to know you have an imagination."

He frowned deeper. "I have a lot of imagination."

"That's not what I've heard." She paused writing for a moment, considering the paper.

"Oh, yeah? What have you heard?"

"Well, from Seventh I've heard a certain Ninth Seat say you were predictable," she said, giggling a little.

He thought for a moment. "Ninth Seat? Oh, that was ..." His eyes sharpened on her. "Predictable? I thought we had a good time."

"She didn't say it wasn't a good time; she just said it was predictable."

He growled, stretching his legs down the slope of rooftop and leaning back on his hands behind him. "Some things have a natural outcome, Rukia. They're supposed to finish a certain way. That's not being predictable."

She shrugged, pen writing on the ledger. "Maybe I'm thinking of the wrong person."

He watched her for a moment, and then swiped the paper away from her. She lunged for it, but he held her off with a palm to the forehead as he looked at her work.

"Give that back!"

Renji realized what it was after a moment of reading, Rukia's fingers trying to peel his hand off her forehead. She finally pulled his hand down as he chuckled, shaking his head at the paper. "Not you, too? These things are popping up all over Soul Society."

"I have to fill out two," she said, pushing her hair back into its normal place as his big hand had misplaced nearly every strand.

He held it out of her reach as she grabbed at it. "Where do you think your going to find someone -- a woman -- of worthy caliber to get matched up with Captain Kuchiki?"

She settled next to him, leaning over his arm as he read the questionnaire. "Matching him up isn't my problem; that's Captain Kyouraku's game. I'm just filling out the form."

He looked over what she'd written, shrugging at a few spots. "Yeah, it's him, but I don't see anyone fitting the description you've got for '_What qualities do you look for in a match?'_" He handed the form back, seeing her dark eyes reconsider her answers. "Did you fill out an application yet?"

She nodded without hesitation. "Nanao made us all fill out two."

"This is the second?"

She nodded again, adding more to one of the lines on the form.

He waited a long moment, and then said, "Any takers yet?"

She held up the paper, frowning at him. "I haven't finished filling it out yet, Renji."

"Not that one. Yours."

"Oh." She smiled, eyes on the form. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Actually, yes, I would."

She laughed a little, her pen back on the paper in the growing dusk.

When she didn't elaborate, he huffed a sigh. "I can _imagine_ what that would be. 'Diminutive unseated female with ties to nobility seeks orange-haired strawberry. Applicant willing to live in closet for proximity, if necessary. Big sword desired.'" He leaned closer as she turned a pouty face to him. "I think he's compensating for something, Rukia."

Her eyes traveled over his face. "Oh? And all these decorations you've got tattooed on yourself aren't a cry for attention?"

"Hey! You know why I got them." His elbow gave her a nudge that nearly knocked her over.

She kicked his leg with her foot. "Status seeker."

"Tag-along."

"Runner-up."

He frowned at her. "Not always."

She looked back down at the form. "Well," she said after a moment, pulling a second form from beneath the top one on the ledger, "it wouldn't hurt for you to fill one out, Renji."

His eyes dropped to the paper she handed him.

"Just don't list predictable as a quality in yourself."

"Hmph."

She stood up and smoothed her robes as he looked at the form.

The questions seemed non-invasive enough, he decided. He'd seen Kyouraku's method at work between Izuru and Orihime, and while it wasn't a very successful match, he figured the vice-captain's attire had played a big part in the failed evening.

"What did you put on yours?" he asked. "Under desired traits in a match."

Rukia laughed as she made her way down the opposite side of the rooftop. "Pretty much what you said, except I left out diminutive."

He growled as she left, her giggle floating back to him as he rolled the form tightly.

_Women_.

* * *

**_-Pairings Suggested Accepted-_**

**_Vote in the poll!_**

* * *


	12. Not Applicable

Shunsui sat behind his desk in the growing heat of the day, frowning at the questionnaire before him. A number of things about the form perplexed him. She was obviously a caring person -- and he was certain the applicant was female, given the precise and even pen strokes -- and not easily ruffled. A gentle confidence pervaded her brief and modest physical description of herself, easily recognizable despite Nanao's attempts at keeping the applicant identities anonymous.

Of course, there were a few questionnaires that had left him stumped, something he knew his resourceful vice-captain strived for in the pursuit of genuine compatibility. She was certainly getting more elusive with her categorizing system, he decided.

But that didn't help with every form, especially when the back of one of the papers on the desk before him had a dot-to-dot outlining Kenpachi Zaraki's profile in purple crayon.

"Nanao, my sweet," he said, looking up as she appeared in the office's open doorway, "I need your feminine insights on this match." He stood and gestured to the chair beside his. "Help me."

"We have more applicants from the Living World, Captain," she said, meeting him hesitantly behind the desk when she saw her chair was closer than usual. "Word is getting around. I don't think we know that many people still living."

He smiled as she sat down, and then resumed his chair. "The Living get lonely, too, Nanao." He looked to the new stack of questionnaires she set of the desk. "Oh, so many?"

She pushed them before him. "Many are from post boxes," she said as the brim of his hat hovered over both of them. She watched him lean over the table, intent on the forms. "Have we -- you -- had anyone agree to second dates, Captain?"

"We have a tentative _no_," he said with a sigh, "and a decidedly firm _no_ on one party." He shrugged. "The second party is more open to a second date."

She nodded, guessing which match he referred to. "She's a very popular applicant. So many options."

He sorted through the forms to find the applicant in question, then settled back in his chair, leaning his arm across the back of Nanao's. "She's friendly, outgoing, very approachable." He looked to her. "Don't you think?"

"Yes, very." She sat straighter in the chair, feeling his fingers at the edge of her shoulder.

He pulled a form from beneath the piles haphazard on the desk. It was empty. "Have you filled out a questionnaire yet?"

She looked up at him in surprise, sitting back until she was inside the hemisphere of his arm. "Me? I need no match, Captain. I'm too busy for such leisure."

He frowned. "Then I'd have to say I put too much work on you, my dear." He nodded, pulling the form closer, studying the questions. "Suppose I help you fill one out?"

"No, no, that's necessary," she said quickly, eyes on the form. "I find great fulfillment in my work."

Disappointment claimed his tone. "I see. Hmm, we could put that in the '_Personal Comments'_ section."

"No, no need, Captain," she said, tugging on the edge of the form, then tugging harder when his fingers held it tighter. "I'm quite capable of filling out my own application."

He smiled at her, letting her take the form. "Good. Then I'll expect your questionnaire -- completed questionnaire -- by this afternoon."

"So soon?" Her violet eyes studied the form.

He nodded, leaning closer to see the paper. "I would very much like to know your thoughts on ..." He smiled as she shrank farther against his arm. "I'd like to know if we can match you."

She frowned, folding the form into fourths. "I already have two questionnaires from the Women's Association."

"Completed?"

"Well, no ..."

He nodded, feeling her sink farther from him, her small form pressing quite unconsciously into the crook of his arm. He looked back to the desk top and sorted through them with his other hand until he found the two he wanted. "I need your insights, Nanao."

She looked to each of the forms where two different handwritings detailed the answers on one. "You know who's that one is, Captain."

"Aye, yes. There's no mistaking Yachiru's work." He flipped the paper over to see the crayon lines. "Very good likeness." He looked back to the front of the page. "My instincts tell me she would be a good match," he said, tapping a second form on the desk.

Nanao looked at the application. "Perhaps. I suppose." Her mind drifted to another thought that had raised its head when he'd mentioned her completing an application. Her eyes stayed on the meticulous writing on the female applicant's questionnaire. "Have you filled out a form, Captain?"

He lifted an eyebrow, mock surprise in his eyes. "Me? Why ever would I need to do that when I have you at my side, Nanao?"

She realized she'd sunk deep within his arm, which was now resting purposefully on her shoulders. Her posture stiffened, but she didn't move away. "All these applicants at your disposal and you haven't looked into one for yourself?"

He shook his head, eyes dropping to her lips as she spoke. "I too find satisfaction in my work."

Now she did move away, feeling the blush ebb from her cheeks as she stood abruptly, her shoulder brushing the edge of his hat. "_When_ you decide to do any work, Captain."

"Oh, but, Nanao, I do work."

"You? Do actual work?" She fanned herself with the folded questionnaire, giving his feigned wounded smile a frown. "Not in a hundred years."

He shrugged as she straightened the paper on his desk, leaning back in the chair so he could watch her backside. "Not quite that long."

She set the papers into two piles on the desk, pausing to compose herself before turning to look at him. "I think it could be a good match, Captain," she said, trying to give him a stern look that softened against her will. She put a hand on the top forms on the desk. "These two."

He nodded, his attention going to the folded application in her small hands. "You will complete that, won't you, Nanao?"

Her fingers fidgeted nervously on the paper as she nodded slightly. "You're so eager to match me away?"

He lifted an eyebrow. "Away?"

She hadn't meant to use that word. She turned her back to him and set the folded form on the desk. "I don't need to fill out a questionnaire, Captain," she said in as level a tone as she could manage, not looking at him as she stepped around the desk. "As for your match, I'll see to sending out the notices and reservations."

He watched her leave, hearing her small, quick footsteps retreat down the hall. He sighed, reaching forward to take the folded form.

Away was not what he had in mind, either.

* * *

**Next Match: Tough Outer Shell**

**_Poll is up!_**


	13. Tough Outer Shell

Zaraki filled the doorway of the general entrance of the Soul Society Canteen, eclipsing the late afternoon sunlight from the street, his gaze settling over the lower ranks eating at tables in the first room. Most kept their attention on their plates, hoping to avoid his notice, waiting for his large bulk to pass their table.

He did, moving into the next room reserved for the higher ranks, but not without seeing a few members of his Division clumped at some of the tables. He moved on.

Zaraki preferred to use the general entrance, giving him the chance to see which of his unit were mingling with which other Divisions. It sometimes helped in training exercises, sometimes giving him material for future ridicule.

In the back room were a few other captains at several of the tables, Shunsui among them, alone at a table, as well as a few vice-captains.

Yachiru's rules on dinner passed through Zaraki's mind as he stepped into the second room of the Canteen. So did Yumichika's tips on tact. He'd been against the idea, but no amount of coaxing his vice-captain with sweets was enough to undo the application his third and fifth seateds had submitted for him. He reluctantly agreed.

He found table Eight and swept the partition of green ivy and eucalyptus away to see the lone occupant seated there. Retsu looked up at him, smiling her usual serene smile that had given him pause on a few, very few, occasions.

"Well, it's good to see you, Captain Zaraki," she greeted pleasantly, nodding as he stood towering at the table edge. "Looks like we've been set up."

He grinned, not expecting to see the captain of Fourth Division, but not expecting anyone, actually. "Looks like." He lowered himself into the chair across from her, taking up an entire side of the table, points of hair dragging at the eucalyptus fronds until he moved them away. "I didn't fill out that form, Captain. I'll have you know that."

She nodded, fingers folded over each other before her on the table. "I didn't think you did."

A gray robed server meekly approached the table, hands shaking with her tray on which tea pot and cups rattled against each other, nearly spilling onto the menus. Zaraki looked to her. "Get over here," he grumbled when she paused too long near another table. "Captain Unohana is waiting."

"Yes, Captain," the server squeaked, putting the tray on the table and attempting to set out the cups.

"I'll see to the tea," Retsu said as the woman shook.

"Would you care, care to o-order," she said, voice failing, "now, sir?"

Zaraki looked to Retsu, who nodded.

"We know what they serve here," she said, looking from his eye to his eye patch. "Although I don't see you here very often, Captain."

He grunted, then remembered that grunts were generally not considered answers, and nodded. He looked to the server, who was shorter than him even while sitting. "One of each, and two of your best," he decided, pushing the tray with the menus still on it toward her. "No nattou." As a second thought, he looked to Retsu. "Unless you like that putrid stuff."

She shook her head, not hiding a smile.

"Very well, s-sir," the server said, taking the tray and hurrying away.

With the server gone, Zaraki gave the woman across the table a better look. Dark hair arranged as always in the thick braid at her chest hiding much of anything the woman may have not covered by her captain's coat, her eyes holding his every move, the small smile on her lips he'd seen on his infrequent visits to the infirmary. She didn't look like someone who could strike fear in his subordinates, but many of them often returned from having their injuries tended looking a little intimidated by their visit.

"Well, we know you don't like nattou," she said, pouring tea into both cups. "Does that go back to your childhood, Captain?"

"Hmm? No. Call me Kenpachi, Retsu," he decided for both of them. "I just don't like rotten beans."

She nodded, sliding one of the cups of tea toward him. "It's something of an acquired taste. By what you've ordered for dinner, I'd say there's not much you don't like to eat. Kenpachi."

He nodded. "Not much." He swallowed the hot tea in a gulp. "Not a saké drinker, are you?"

She shook her head, sipping her tea and looking at him over the top of the pale green porcelain cup. "Not so much." She set the cup down, phrasing her next words carefully. "I must say, I have been curious about the captain who sends so many wounded to my infirmary on such a regular basis."

He grunted. "Only the weak ones." He filled the tea cup to the brim, his hand nearly surrounding the hot tea pot. "Some aren't so wounded. I think a number of them fancy a little attention from your staff."

She laughed, a light sound that made the bells tipping his hair quiver ever so slightly. "Every man that comes through my doors from your Division is in need of medical attention, Kenpachi."

He downed the tea at once. "Maybe some of them."

She filled his cup again and topped off her own. Her eyes dropped to his large hand surrounding the cup. It struck her as odd how hands could appear so hard even at rest. The server returned with a large bottle of saké and a platter of fish balls and curry sauce, shakily setting the table, and bowing quickly before taking her leave.

Zaraki pulled the cork from the bottle and immediately filled his tea cup with saké, pausing at Retsu's cup. "Care to take a chance?"

She found herself giggling a little, something she thought she was well past doing, and shook her head. "No. Not yet."

"Hmm. Maybe later." He watched her fingers close around her cup. Usually when he saw her hands move it was to tighten a bandage or wipe blood from a wound, and it struck him how gracefully her slender fingers held the porcelain. He cleared his throat, reaching for a serving spoon in one of the dishes. "So, ask your questions."

"Me? Well, not so much questions, Kenpachi, as an observation." She spooned several fish balls onto her plate and used her chopsticks to dip one in her small dish of mirin. "Raising a child is quite out of the ordinary for a captain, especially a Zaraki, and I think you're doing the job well."

He frowned over the mound of fish ball on his plate before dumping two dishes of sauce over them. "She's a sugar-driven sweets mercenary who leaves chomp marks on Ikkaku. How good of a job could I have done, Retsu?"

She watched him stuff three fish balls into his mouth. "She's healthy, even if hyper, bright, not too bad on the manners, and inquisitive. And she's happy with you. That says a lot."

He swallowed the bite and then reached for his cup of saké. "She has no choice."

Retsu nodded. "She has a choice whether or not to be happy about staying with you, Kenpachi. She's happy."

He took another mammoth bite of fish balls and chewed, looking at her for a moment. "I guess you have a point." His eyes fell over the braid, finding his mind straying. "My turn for a question."

She nodded, watching him drink down his saké and refill the cup. "Yes?"

Across the room Shunsui was on his second bottle of saké, leaning over the table that was nearly hidden in one of the alcoves, pleased with his work.

He didn't take all the credit as he watched the captains of Fourth and Eleventh Divisions at dinner. Nanao had helped him make the match. He sighed, raising the saké to his lips, wishing his vice-captain had come with him for the evening's entertainment.

Watch their work at, well, work, he thought. Perhaps next time. It was worth another try asking her. Always worth another try.

He grinned as the server brought two trays of platters to table Eight and unloaded it.

Another blindingly strong reiatsu filled the room, and Shunsui looked to the captains' entry, as everyone else in the room did, to see Yamamoto step in. A hush fell over the room, every eye on the large, aged general as he made his way to Shunsui's table before eyes and conversation turned back to their individual tables.

Shunsui got to his feet, bowing, curious at the old man's rare appearance in the Canteen. "Captain General?"

Yamamoto squinted at him. "Kyouraku. I'll be joining you."

"Please do." Shunsui gestured to the chair opposite his, and took his seat after his senior had. After a few moments of respectful murmuring the buzz of conversation resumed to a lower norm.

Shunsui watched the old man's eyes go around the room, gaze resting for a long moment on table Eight, where the occupants were hunched over closer to each other than a few moments ago.

Yamamoto looked to Shunsui. "What kind of a train wreck are you orchestrating, Kyouraku?"

Shunsui's eyes opened wider. "Train wreck?"

Yamamoto's eyes narrowed on him. "You don't think I keep current with the World of the Living?"

"Well, yes, but, General, I'm not sure --"

"You know what I'm talking about," he grumbled in a low tone. "This matching business. What's your angle on all this?"

Shunsui used a moment to scratch the back of his head just below his hat, wondering how best to answer. "Happy shinigami make for more productive Divisions, General."

"I don't have anything against happy shinigami," Yamamoto said gratingly. "As long as they don't become preoccupied shinigami."

"Oh, we're being very careful about that," Shunsui said as a server hesitantly neared their table with another cup and bottle of premium saké.

She bowed deeply and set the items on the table, eyes lowered as she tried to quell her voice enough to speak to the General.

Yamamoto saw her timidity and waved her away. She went willingly, with another bow.

He frowned at Shunsui, eyes disappearing in his wrinkled face. "We? You've dragged your vice-captain into this?"

"I thought a feminine outlook would help in matching." Shunsui waited for a long moment, and then moved a hand toward the new bottle of saké. "Allow me to pour for you, General."

Yamamoto nodded, then shifted his gaze to table Eight. He looked back to Shunsui after a moment. "What do you get out of this?"

"A better work environment?" he said, disappointed that it came out sounding more like a query than a statement.

Yamamoto nodded to the cups. "Yourself, too, Kyouraku."

"Thank you, General." Shunsui poured himself a cup of the better saké.

"This is why your expense report this week was twenty percent higher than last week?"

Shunsui swallowed his drink despite the hiccup that wanted out. "Well, we've not worked out all the --"

"Yes or no, Kyouraku."

Shunsui couldn't read the old man's face. "Yes."

Yamamoto and Shunsui looked to table Eight as the occupants stood up and left the room together. Kyouraku smiled, and then let some of the expression drop as the General turned his attention on him.

"I want in," Yamamoto said in a level tone.

Shunsui looked at him with surprise. "You want an application, General?"

"No, Kyouraku," he growled. He set a cloth bag on the table, coins clinking inside. "I want to make it interesting."

Shunsui looked to the bag, taken aback. "Oh..."

* * *

Retsu and Zaraki strolled along the Seireitei streets leading to Fourth Division, a mild evening breeze lifting the day's heat. They had the street to themselves, as every other shinigami had become scarce at the sight of the large Eleventh Division captain's appearance.

Retsu walked at his side, fingers toying at the edge of her braid, thoughts on their conversation at the table. "I suppose I could try something different. It never occurred to me to do so."

Zaraki nodded, watching her fingers work, his gaze lifting to her pensive face. "It's just a thought, Retsu. All that," he gestured to the braid, "you can do much more with it." He frowned, unfamiliar with women's grooming, more accustomed to Yumichika's practices. He shook the image of his fifth seat from his mind. "Can't you?"

"Well, yes..." She nodded, a smile creeping to her lips as she bowed over the braid, her steps slowing slightly in pace as her fingers nimbly removed the cord at the end of the hair.

He watched with growing fascination, unaware he would be the first man to see her hair freed in decades.

She separated the sections of long black hair, pushing half over one shoulder, the tresses still crimped and wavy.

Zaraki grinned fully, deciding the profile of her throat quite lovely, his eye glinting in something akin to victory as she smoothed the locks with her hands. He envied the fingers.

He nodded, and was about to speak when Hanatarou came careening around the street corner at a dead run, only to pull up short in a cloud of dust when he saw Zaraki, and then his own captain.

He stood shaking, panting, afraid to breathe but dearly needing to, as his eyes shot from Retsu to Zaraki.

When the boy remained silent, mouth gaping, Retsu said, "Calm down. What is it?"

Hanatarou heaved, bowing. "Captain Ukitake is ill, Captain Unohana. He's taken to his bed at Ugendou, Captain," he said, warily retreating a few steps as Zaraki glared at him.

Retsu sighed. "Very well. I'll be there shortly. Tell Vice-Captain Isane I'm on my way."

Hanatarou bowed hurriedly, and then stumbled backward in his haste to depart.

Zaraki growled deep in his throat, eyeing the newly loosened tresses along Retsu's shoulders. "He'd better be coughing up a lung."

She put a hand to his wrist, and then withdrew it awkwardly, a blush touching her cheeks. "So callous, Captain? You know he's afflicted."

"His timing annoys me."

She smiled and wound her hair in her hands, letting it lay across her shoulder as she braided it to one side. "Perhaps we can continue our conversation again, Kenpachi?"

He nodded, grin widening. "I'll hold you to that, Retsu."

* * *

**_Pairings Suggestions Accepted. Poll is up!_**


	14. Meddling

It was raining outside, which meant that Karin would be home early from her soccer game in the park that afternoon. Yuzu was playing upstairs in her room, dressing that vulgar lion stuffed animal in her doll's best dresses, pinning bows on his ears and stickers on his forehead. Isshin had just enough time to complete the questionnaire if he hurried. He looked to the other forms on the table.

Most pressing needs first, he decided. The twins could wait; they were young. Ichigo, however, well...

"We should have started much earlier for him," Isshin said, seated at the low table in the living room, eyes raised to the wall hanging of his beloved wife. "I didn't think I'd resort to this, Masaki." He shrugged, looking back to the form. "Or at least have you here with me to help with it."

She didn't answer, never did, at least, not that anyone was aware of. But he knew what her answers would have been.

"These people might be able to help. They're his kind. Our kind. And he's young enough to mend from any emotional trauma Kyouraku might inflict on him if it's a skewed match." He hovered over the form, tapping the pencil against his scruffy chin, reading the questions before deciding which to answer first.

"Young enough to develop more character, old enough to react responsibly," he said, writing in one of the answers randomly. He frowned at the words, then erased them and rewrote. "Old enough to take on responsibility. Good student, good outlook on the future...providing he has one," he mumbled, leaving that part out.

He looked over the next set of questions, smiling as he filled in another answer. "Long term match sought, family-oriented, many children desired. Devoted brother. Recklessly loyal, fearless to the point of," he thought for a moment, discarding several ideas, "stupidity." He cleared his throat. "Good reflexes."

The front door flung open and a wet girl entered. She shut the door against the pelting rain and shrugged out of her shoes, dark hair wet under her baseball cap. "Ughh! Rained-out again this week!"

Isshin looked to her, sliding the other forms beneath Ichigo's. "Game cancelled, Karin?"

"Yeah, those sugar cubes won't play in the rain." She hung up her windbreaker on a wall peg and made her way to him, eyes curious on what he was doing. "Hey, Yuzu was doing one of those last week. She said ..." Her face puckered into a frown. "Is that for Nii-chan?"

Isshin smiled grandly, pleased with her neutral attitude. "Yes, Karin. He's getting to the age where matters of --"

"Geez, Dad, he's still in high school." She frowned, chewing her bubblegum.

Isshin nodded. "Never too early to start for someone with Ichigo's qualities."

Her eyes narrowed on him for a second. "You mean because he's grouchy."

He tried not to nod. "...Yes."

She rolled her eyes, groaning as she blew a bubble and popped it. "Yeah, well good luck, Dad."

He turned as she made her way to the staircase. "Yuzu filled one of these out for him?"

"No," she called back down the stairs. "It was for that weirdo Hat-and-Clogs guy. She said he's too obsessed with his cat and needs to find an adult-type person."

Isshin started to correct her, but let it go. "Gentle Yuzu, looking out for everyone."

"I think Ichigo already filled out too, anyway," she added, voice fading.

He smiled, pulling out the forms beneath the one he was completing. "What do you say, Masaki? Do we start early and carve their future in stone, or let them wing it and help them put their hearts back together?"

Upstairs a rumbling sounded as Karin sorted through her closet.

Isshin scratched his head with the pencil, frowning at one of the extra questionnaires. "Highly motivated. Ultra competitive." He sighed. "Spirited." He smiled, thoughts turning to Yuzu. "Compassionate, kindhearted, the very fiber of a good family unit."

Karin's words caught up with him suddenly. He stood and looked to the staircase. Urahara?

"Yuzu!"

* * *

**_- Pairings Suggestions Accepted -_**

**_Poll is up!_**


	15. Three Strands

The paper was wrinkled in several spots from the rain, the water damage making a few of the answers illegible. The handwriting was masculine, but practiced, and Shunsui had learned that the penmanship filling out the questionnaires didn't necessarily reflect much about the applicant. It was one of several from the Living World that had arrived lately.

The sheeting rain that had plagued Seireitei for the last few days had given way to a bright late afternoon, and the sun stretched greedy shadows across the office floor. Shunsui looked to the doorway as Nanao appeared there, her hair pulled up in its usual fashion, those few escaping tendrils falling to her shoulders beckoning silently to him. He smiled as she crossed the room and set three forms on the desk.

"Ah, more so soon?"

She nodded, lifting an eyebrow at him. "This fifteen bucks per form is draining us, Captain."

His thoughts turned to his last conversation with General Yamamoto. "Yes, but I've made arrangements to compensate that."

"Oh?" Her eyes went to the applications he had set into three stacks on the desk. "How so?"

His smile lost some of its flair before perking up again. "Let's just say Old Man Yama is sponsoring some of our efforts."

Her eyes flashed a deeper violet. "You told him about this?"

He sighed, patting the chair next to his behind the desk. "Not so much sponsoring, sweet Nanao," he rephrased, nodding to his side when she made no move. "Come help me with these matches. I think I've made two."

She skirted the desk, the mere thought of the General taking an interest in their sideline dealings bringing a chill to her spine. "He's allowing us -- you -- to continue?"

Shunsui scratched the bristle of beard at his neck, grinning at the scent of jasmine permeating her as she sat down. The fragrance always smelled stronger after a rain, and he wondered if it was her or just his imagination. "He's taking a vested interest in the, er, program." He read the sharp look in her eyes and clarified himself as much as he could. "He's of the mind that I can't match like minds as well as I think I can."

Her mouth dropped open, making him grin wider until she snapped it shut. She looked to the forms, and then back to him. "A wager?"

He nodded.

"I think you're in over your head, Captain." She sat on the edge of the chair, gathered the questionnaires close and began stacking them. "We -- you -- can cut our losses now, and I'll send out apologies, and --"

"You doubt my abilities, Nanao?" He feigned hurt. "I'm wounded."

She steeled herself against the soft look in his eyes. "You will be if you mess up wagering with the Captain-General, Shunsui." She caught herself, hands stilling on the forms, feeling his smile even as she looked away from him. "I meant, Captain. Captain Kyouraku."

He grinned, leaning closer as she fidgeted with the papers. "No, Nanao, we're past such formalities."

She didn't like the way her pulse leaped when he settled closer, feeling his arm at the back of her chair. "Not at the office, Captain."

"Oh? No?" he asked hopefully, attempting to wedge his sandal in the door of further casualness. "Later then?"

She shook her head, needlessly straightening the forms. "No. I meant, I just meant we're at the office, and we should be ..." She turned to look at him, eyes falling to his lazy grin. "Professional."

He watched her blush and look away again, eyes dropping to the papers she still clutched in a white-knuckle hold. "You should join me during the next match, Nanao. I think you'd like to see the budding of a new romance among our comrades. Very refreshing."

"I think we should give them their privacy, Captain. Would you want your," she frowned, searching for the word, "amorous ventures on display for the whole of the Soul Society Canteen to see?"

"Not everyone eats at the Canteen," he said, enjoying her fluster.

"Enough do." She watched him take the papers from her hands and spend a moment arranging them on the desk again.

"We're still in business, Nanao." He looked with interest to four of the forms, setting the rest in one pile. "We haven't been forbidden. We have a need to fill."

She sat back some in the chair, flinching as his arm scooted it closer to the table, and to his own chair, and looked to the four questionnaires he had singled out. "It must be raining in the Living World, too. Many that came in today were wrinkled. Some of the answers are unreadable."

He nodded, pulling a form to the edge of the table. "But the important parts are clear enough." His finger tapped a paper. "This one. '_Long term match sought, family-oriented, many children desired_...' I can't read the next part, but the pertinent facts are there. I know just who to match with her."

Nanao frowned, looking to the line beside '_Sexual Preference'_ that was smeared past recognition from the rain. "Her? How do you know it's a woman?"

"She's family-based, it looks like she has a brother," he said, trying to decipher the smudged words on the line, "a good student. I know we're not supposed to guess at the identities, Nanao, but she sounds charming. Probably one of the Ryoka girl's friends from school, or maybe even she herself, taking another chance with us."

Nanao nodded, frowning at the form. "Who have you matched her with?"

He smiled and pulled another form closer. "This applicant is undeniably -- well, one of our own." He held it in front of her, noting she didn't move away. "Heavily tattooed, considered a big-brother figure by childhood friends, loyal, ready to move on in his love life."

She nodded slowly. "I suppose it's a match, but should we attempt sending another shinigami to the Living World? Vice-Captain Kira hasn't been himself lately since he got back from his match."

"Aye, do we want him to be himself again?" He shook his head, sighing, reaching for the first form again. "If this girl was Izuru's first date, sweet Nanao, trying to give it another shot with another form, I think we owe her." He pointed to the bottom line of the '_Personal Comments'_ section. "See? She's familiar with Soul Society, too. Maybe she doesn't want us to know she's filling out another questionnaire."

Nanao nodded slowly. "It might be her. At least she's willing to try again. We have been getting more from the Living. Three from the same post box in Karakura Town."

"Confidence is building, my dear." He set the two questionnaires to one side and pulled two more closer, letting his wrist drape across her shoulder as her attention went to the forms. "Now these two have several strands of compatibility, Nanao. You should be proud of me, how well I've matched them."

She tilted her head, eyes on the papers. "Several?"

"Hmm, several." His finger followed one line on the application. "He considers himself a cat person, so does she. He's very dedicated to his work, so is she, and both would go to the ends of the earth -- I think that's figuratively -- for someone they loved," he said, finger trailing the print of purple ink on one line. "See? Three strands of likeness right there, Nanao."

She nodded, allowing a small smile. "They do seem to have enough in common for at least dinner." She looked down at his fingers closing around her shoulder. "Two matches in one afternoon, Captain." She slowly stood up, feeling his hand drop down her sleeve. "Quite an accomplishment."

"I'd know your handwriting if I saw it, Nanao," he said as she stepped away from the desk, the four forms in her hands, watching her black sleeve drift through his fingers as she parted. "Why haven't you filled out a questionnaire yet?"

"Have you?" she asked, adjusting her glasses, attempting to keep the genuine curiosity from her tone.

He chuckled as she went paused for his answer. "You think I could match myself?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Haven't you?" She rethought her wording, and added hastily as he grinned, "Of the applicants, haven't you found any of them interesting, Captain?"

He shrugged. "A few, mildly. Certainly not enough strands of compatibility to make time." He watched her collect the forms closer to her chest. "Come with me to the next match at the Canteen, Nanao. See our work in progress."

She shook her head and left through the doorway. "I'll see to the invitations and reservations, Captain."

* * *

**Next Match: Cat Lover Seeks Same**

**_Poll is up!_**


	16. Cat Lover Seeks Same

Soi Fon looked suspiciously around at the Broken Yen restaurant. It was more twenty-somethings hangout than intimate dining, certainly Western atmosphere, and sadly lacking in the soulfulness she had expected in a romantic encounter.

Not that she needed a romantic encounter. Far from it. A change of pace was how she decided to look at the endeavor. When she'd filled out the application Yachiru had pushed on her she didn't know it would involve the Living World. She wasn't sure if it made the idea of a match more or less attractive.

What kind of a racket is Kyouraku running? she thought. He couldn't find anyone in Soul Society so he'd pawned her off on the Living?

She sat back in the semi-circular booth seat in the indirect lighting from the walls, feeling the elbow of the man behind her bump her head again. Man, she thought with disgust. Hardly. Twenty at the most. Hardly a man yet, she decided.

"Hey, sorry about that," he said, leaning over the booth back to see her better, grinning through the effects of his four beers. Across from his table was another man slurping down a beer in a glass, well into the alcohol. "Who're you waiting on, chickie?"

Soi Fon's eyes narrowed on him. "Turn around and mind your own business." She looked back to the hostess area of the restaurant, fingers tapping impatiently on the table. As if it wasn't bad enough stuffed into a gigai and modern clothing for the evening, now her match was late.

"You want some company?" the guy behind her asked again.

She scowled, ignoring him, trying to ignore the growing agitation in her legs, the clothes feeling foreign on her. Nemu had assured her she looked appropriate. Cute, in fact, in the lavender blouse and white skirt.

And oh-so-exposed, she thought, eyes roaming over the other diners sitting at half the tables. She felt a tug on one of her braids and turned to see the guy's hand close around the edge of one.

"These are sweet. You come -- Agh!"

Soi Fon's palm caught just under his chin, thrusting up sharply with a sudden movement that made his neck crack and vertebrae scream in trauma.

He sat back on his side of the booth, eyes watering, muttering a string of curses. Soi Fon turned back to her own table, tempted to shorten his natural lifespan. After a moment of considerable pain he and his dinner companion left the table without a second look back to her.

Something akin to a smile crossed her lips, but then tightened into a line when she saw the man now approaching her table. He gave her his usual loopy smile, which he used too much, in her opinion, and leaned a hand on the booth opposite her.

"Hey, are you joining us today, Soi Fon?" Kisuke Urahara asked, his grin doing little to put her at ease.

Quite the opposite, it made Soi Fon bristle. "What are you doing here?"

He fished through his coat with one hand and pulled out a coupon. "One free dinner with the match of a lifetime at table fourteen." Part of the smile dropped from his face. "This is table fourteen, but you're not who I had in mind. No offense, Soi Fon."

"Shut up," she snapped, eyes moving past him to the room beyond.

He sat down, sliding into the booth despite the sharp look she pointed at him. He patted the seat beside him. "It's a big booth. Enough room for all three of us."

"You're denser than Omaeda, Urahara," she said. She pointed to the coupon he was waving around. "Do you know what that is?"

As she said it a waitress met their table, bowing and smiling, handing them each a menu. "I'll give you a few minutes to decide on your order, and --"

"I'll have the Float-Your-Boat fish special," Soi Fon said, hating the ridiculous name as she looked to the first page of the menu, "and tea." She handed back the menu.

Urahara smiled and returned his menu also. "I'll have that, too. Oh, we're expecting a third person, so bring three orders."

"Very well," the waitress said, bowing before she left.

Soi Fon shook her head at the man beneath the hat across the table from her. "You don't know what you're doing here, do you?"

He smiled at her and leaned his elbows on the table, a finger waving at her attire. "You're out of uniform, Captain."

"Idiot," she said, "look at the coupon."

He glanced down to the slip of paper. "One free dinner. Yup. This is the place."

"This is a match-up. A set-up." She clenched her teeth against the words. "A _date_, you fool."

"A date?" This time there was genuine surprise in his tone. "With _you_? How awful."

She kicked him under the table, her sandal glancing off his shin in an oblique hit. He whimpered anyway.

"What are you doing filling out an application for a dating _opportunity_ anyway, Urahara?" Soi Fon's expression brightened. "Did Yoruichi break it off with you?"

"Don't sound so happy," he said, giving the coupon another look. "What do you mean _application_?" He frowned at the smaller print on the paper. "This isn't from Yoruichi. What's going on here? I thought she wanted to have a nice romantic dinner away from the shop. Just the two of us."

Her tone turned rigid. "Did you fill out an application?"

He frowned. "No."

"How'd you get the coupon?"

He scratched his blond head beneath his hat. "It came in the mail. I thought she was being --"

"Who brought it?"

His eyes narrowed on her. "Hey, I didn't ask to meet with you, Soi Fon, so lighten up." He grinned, nodding as she simmered. "Oh, wouldn't she be hot if she knew ..." The amusement left his voice. "Boy, would she be hot."

The waitress brought their orders -- all three of them -- and Soi Fon gave Urahara a tolerant glare as the table was set with edge to edge dishes and bowls. When the waitress had poured the tea and left, he beat her to the next question.

"So you're looking for a man, eh, Soi Fon?" He chuckled. "Or aren't you?" Before she could answer he continued. "Sure would help you a lot, if I may say so. Take some of that sour pickle out of you. I've never met someone --" He broke off speaking to dodge her foot beneath the table. "Just trying to help," he said, pulling his tea cup closer. "What's your type?"

"Not you, that's for certain." She glowered at him, raising the cup of hot tea to her lips. "Undisciplined, stagnant, banished, no sense of --"

"Hey, I can figure out the rest." He grinned, eyes sharpening on her. "I didn't know you were so eloquent. She's never mentioned that about you."

A brief look of malleability passed over her before disappearing. "Always late when it's important," she added. "I don't know what she sees in you, Urahara."

He took the lids off the serving dishes of rice and udon and helped himself. "Well, you got the girlie-look improved upon," he said, dismissing her view of him. He eyed her face and then blouse for a long moment, watching her eyes narrow on him. "I could've done a better gigai for you." He shrugged, tapping the ends of his chopsticks on the table. "This is a definite improvement. Not quite soft, but not as acidic as you usually are."

Her fingers closed around her chopsticks, leaning over the table as he paused pouring tamari sauce into his dish at the look on her face. "I didn't ask your opinion."

He shrugged. "I'm just saying, I can fix you up with something better."

Soi Fon sampled a few of the different fish offerings on the plate, silently counting to ten before deciding to comment. "Are you saying your work is superior to Captain Kurotsuchi's?"

"I wouldn't quite go that far."

"Oh?" She spooned a pile of rice onto her plate from the serving bowl. "It sounds like it."

He gave her face a more intent study before his gaze dropped over her torso, sitting straighter on his side of the booth and leaning over the table to do so. "If you're going to be dating in the Living World you're going to want a gigai with more functionality. Kurotsuchi kind of overlooks that aspect of his models."

She swallowed the bite of fish quickly. "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

He grinned, pointing the chopsticks at her. "I see you got the vernacular down already."

She shook her head. "Why did it have to be you?" she muttered, shoving a large bite of calamari into her mouth.

"I'm just trying to help." He poured himself more tea, and then chanced to top off her cup despite the look of warning she shot him. "You'll want something with more options. Full capabilities."

She didn't like the sound of it. He took her silence for an invitation to expound.

"Kurostuchi's models don't have all the features necessary for a," he grinned for a moment, enjoying her confusion, "pleasurable evening."

This time her foot made full contact with his shin, and the sandal sole nearly cracked.

"You disgusting reject," she bit out lowly as he suppressed a yelp. "My evenings are none of your business, Urahara."

He hovered low over the table, one hand on his tender shin beneath it, giving her a meager smile. "Just helping you explore your options, Soi Fon."

"Well, isn't this cozy," Yoruichi said as she stepped up to their table, shooting curious looks between them. "While the cat's away, hmm?"

Soi Fon smiled at the dark-skinned woman, shifting in her booth to make room on the bench seat.

"Well, this is nice," Urahara said with more poise than he felt, dropping his bruised leg. He frowned as Yoruichi sat beside Soi Fon and raised an eyebrow at him. "How long has this been going on?"

"It's good to see you, Yoruichi." Soi Fon almost giggled, reaching for the third dinner plate and placing it before the other woman. "If it's not warm enough, we'll have the waitress bring you another."

Yoruichi smiled at her, shooting looks from her former bodyguard to the man across the table. "Thank you. Now, Urahara," she said, taking her chopsticks, eyes leveling on him, "what's all this about? Tessai said you were down here meeting me, except I never arranged this little reunion."

Urahara was the first to whip out his coupon, eager to explain from his point of view. Yoruichi listened over the next few moments with growing delight as he explained the blunder, giving him a mischievous look before turning her attention to Soi Fon.

"Who thought he was something you'd be interested in?" she asked, nodding to Urahara before picking a bite from her plate.

Soi Fon sighed. "Captain Kyouraku."

Yoruichi laughed, bringing a bit more of a smile from the shorter woman. "He sent you here? To the Living World?"

Soi Fon nodded as she poured her a cup of tea, more at ease than alone with Urahara. "It was a misunderstanding."

Yoruichi gave the man across from her a guilty look. "This is who he matched you with? Interesting." She smiled her thanks to Soi Fon and took a sip of the tea. "Why not someone from Soul Society?"

"Like who?" Soi Fon said before thinking, forgetting about Urahara's presence for a moment.

Yoruichi thought before speaking. "How about Captain Ukitake? Oh, now there's some good hair." She smiled and nudged Soi Fon, who nodded and smiled back. "Not as good as Byakuya's -- when he's not being so _noble_ about everything -- but definitely one of the top five in Soul Society."

"Definitely," Soi Fon said.

"Top five?" Urahara echoed, absently folding the edges of his coupon, forgetting about his dinner. "You rate hair? Men's hair?"

Yoruichi gave him a cursory nod. "We rate everything."

"Everything?"

She nodded and looked back to the other woman. "I'd say Ukitake tops Byakuya in the hair category. What about him?"

Soi Fon shrugged, watching Yoruichi close the ends of the chopsticks around a ringlet of calamari and eat it. "He's sick so much of the time."

Yoruichi shrugged. "Well, you could give it a shot. Get to know him. Let him get to know you."

"Now wait a minute," Urahara said, folding the paper into sharp creases as he frowned at them. "If you're --"

"We should go shopping while you're here," Yoruichi said, grabbing Soi Fon's arm. "I know just the place, a little boutique a couple of streets over, specializing in petite sizes." Her fingers toyed with the wrapped braid lying over the short woman's shoulder. "They've got all kinds of hair accessories, too."

Soi Fon's slow smile warmed at the thought. "I suppose it's worth looking into," she said, eyes on Yoruichi's fingers on the end of her braid.

"Let's go now." Yoruichi looked to Urahara, who was mumbling to himself, attention on the origami cat he was folding. "Give me the big credit card."

He looked up. "What?" His gaze shifted to Soi Fon. "No. Not the big one."

Yoruichi wiggled her fingers. "Come on. Girls' night out."

He tried to ignore the twinkle in her gold eyes, failing to, as every other time, and dug the credit card out of his pants pocket.

Yoruichi smiled as she took the card and grabbed Soi Fon's hand, half dragging her out of the booth as she stood. "Let's go, Soi Fon. You'll love the shops here."

"Okay," Soi Fon said, fully smiling now.

Yoruichi grinned at Urahara's glum expression, tilting the brim of his hat up just enough to see his shaded eyes. "See you later. Don't wait up." Her eyes dropped to the small paper figure he'd made perched beside his plate before she leaned down and kissed his cheek. "Nice cat."

He grinned as her lips touched his cheek. "Yeah."

"Bye!" she called as she and Soi Fon wove their way through the restaurant.

He nodded, wondering where his hair rated, making a mental note to inquire in more detail later on the matter. "Have fun."

* * *

**Next Match: Claiming the Y**

**_Poll is up!_**


	17. Claiming the Y

The Soul Society Canteen was a little less crowded than usual for the evening, the gentle rain outside having kept some of the usual diners in their respective Divisions. Renji decided it was better that way, less intrusions or witnesses to his match.

He put the coupon he'd gotten with the invitation on the table and sat back in the booth. He spread his arms across the top of the back, flicking away a strand of ivy that invaded his movement. Maybe someone from Fifth Division, he thought. He'd seen a few attractive women there on occasion. He glanced at the coupon.

Maybe Seventh Division. Maybe .. Nah, he thought. No one from Eleventh. Few women under Zaraki's command.

He looked around the senior members' room, spotting Shunsui and Yamamoto at another table, both looking his way periodically, making him wonder. He sighed, drumming his fingers to either side along the booth back, and then dropped his arms to the table top. Didn't want to look too inviting, he thought.

He watched the centerpiece on the table, a collection of three candles in bulbous glass holders with small fancy cutouts in the shape of diamonds that lent a dancing light to the alcove of viney greenery. He looked up as Ichigo paused at the table side, peeking through the draping foliage opening.

"Dammit, Kurosaki, get lost," Renji growled, looking past the guy. "I'm waiting on a date. Beat it before you ruin everything."

Ichigo looked down at the coupon in his hand, a sinking feeling in his stomach. "A date?" He scowled. "At this table?"

Renji was about to tell him in more colorful terms to move along, but his eyes went to the coupon. "No way. You?" He shook his head. "Is this a joke?"

"Ha! You?" Ichigo laughed, pointing at him.

"What's so funny? Sit down or get lost before you draw attention."

Ichigo sat, as far away as he could get across the table, his momentary amusement disappearing. "Is this a prank?"

"Gotta be." Renji looked around the room, eyes narrowing through the ivy and eucalyptus. No one was watching their table. "Don't draw attention. Just act normal and maybe no one will suspect ... this."

Ichigo frowned, looking at the coupon. "It's not even funny."

"No one knows." He nodded to the coupon. "Put that away before someone sees it." He stuffed his own coupon in his pocket. "Maybe you're supposed to be in your own world, not here."

"You think I can't read?"

Renji shrugged. "Probably Captain of Eight's idea of a joke."

"I'm out of here."

When Ichigo didn't move to leave, Renji nodded. "Well?"

Ichigo raised his shoulders in a shrug. "It _is_ a free meal. No one knows it's a mix up."

For a few long moments they each glared at the other, until Renji chanced a glance at Shunsui's table. The Captain's normally lax face wore a look of amused disappointment. Across from him to the Captain-General was shaking his head.

A gray robed waitress approached their table, giving them a questionable scrutiny before checking the number on the side of the table edge to assure herself she was at the correct table, and pushing a smile onto her face as she bowed. "Good evening, may I take your orders?"

Renji and Ichigo both accepted the menus she handed them.

"A bottle of saké, an order of teriyaki chicken and a basket of grilled vegetable sticks," Renji said with a brief glimpse of the menu.

Ichigo took a long moment to look over the menu items.

Too long, in Renji's opinion. "Hurry up, Ichigo."

"Hey, I've never been here before, so shut your trap, Renji." Ichigo frowned at a menu selection. "Okay, I want the sesame pork with brown rice and vegetable sticks, too."

"Thank you, sirs," the waitress said, collecting the menus from them and bowing before taking her leave.

Ichigo scowled at the shinigami across from him. "How the hell did we get matched up? Isn't Captain Kyouraku checking these things?"

Renji muttered something Ichigo couldn't hear. "Why are you even filling out an application? You have that cute Inoue in your own world. You've got to invade mine, too?"

"Orihime?" Ichigo managed to look surprised. "What about her?"

"Are you blind or just stupid?" Renji figured the answer was a little of both. "She's been hung up on you forever."

Ichigo frowned, scratching the back of his hair. "I think you're imagining things, Renji. What are you doing filling out a form?"

Renji suddenly laughed, then lowered his tone before he could attract attention from the other diners. "You thought you'd get matched up with Rukia. _That's_ what you thought!"

Ichigo looked around guiltily, leaning on his elbows on the table. "So did you."

The waitress returned with a bottle of saké and two cups. She smiled, bowed, and left with a giggle.

Renji pulled the cork from the bottle and poured one of the cups full. "This is embarrassing." He swallowed down the drink and poured another. "I live here. You can walk away from it."

Ichigo took the remaining cup and filled it from the bottle. "Like you said, no one knows."

Renji belched. "_We_ know. That's bad enough."

Ichigo drank his saké, made a slight face at it, and poured himself more. "At least it's a free dinner."

The waitress returned soon with a tray and put a plate with their orders before each of them, and set several other dishes between them, careful not to knock the three candle holders.

For a few moments Ichigo and Renji busied themselves with the food, draining the last from the bottle of saké as the waitress brought another.

"What I want to know," Renji said ten minutes later, deeming himself sufficiently stuffed to remark on the issue they were both trying to ignore, "is what you wrote on your questionnaire that made Captain Kyouraku match you with me."

Ichigo snorted indignantly, frowning at him. "Me? What makes you think it was something on my application?"

Renji shrugged, opening the second bottle of saké. "It had to be you, Ichigo. Obviously on paper you sound like a woman."

Ichigo nearly spewed masticated pork and rice on the table. "A _woman_? Ha! You're the one who would sound like a woman on paper, Renji." He chuckled, pointing across the table. "Lovely red locks kept in a ponytail? You don't think that's womanly?"

"Shut up," Renji growled, fingers tightening on the chopsticks until the bamboo threatened to snap. "I'm more man than you are any day of the year, any year!" He made an exaggerated sniff. "Is that aftershave you've got slathered on? Oh, must be cologne, seeing as you're not even old enough to shave."

Ichigo swallowed his bite before quipping, "I shave."

"Hmph. What?"

Ichigo glared at him. "If you're such a man, what're you doing here? Why hasn't some woman snatched you up? Maybe because you're half pineapple, half baboon?"

"Listen, if this mess was real, I'd be the man, you'd be the female."

"I'm not the one with a ponytail," Ichigo bit back.

"And don't be calling my hair lovely." The chopsticks snapped in Renji's hand.

Ichigo chuckled as Renji stole the chopsticks out of a serving plate. He took a bite of the pork and rice. "I'd be a good boyfriend."

"Don't even start. You'd have to man-up some first." Renji picked up a shish kabob of grilled vegetables.

"You don't think I am? I'm man enough for the both of us." Ichigo grimaced as the words left his mouth.

Renji glared at him. "Shut up, you moron. You know how that sounds?"

"You know what I mean," Ichigo mumbled.

"Yeah?" Renji moved the plates from the center of the table to the sides and pulled one of the candle holders closer, the tall flame inside not quite reaching over the decorative glass edge. "Let's see who can take the heat, _boy_."

Ichigo's eyes narrowed on the candle, but, not to be outdone, pushed his plate to one side and pulled a candle holder to himself. "What's up, Abarai?"

Renji grinned, having spent time in Eleventh Division with Ikkaku who got bored easily, and Zaraki, who found pastimes to ease the boredom. He put his left hand over the top of the glass holder, the flame reaching to within an inch of his hand. "Let's go, strawberry."

Ichigo scowled, but set his hand over his candle holder, immediately feeling the warmth from the flame inside. A thought came to his mind. "Obviously I make for better boyfriend material, Abarai." He grinned. "Rukia _did_ live in my closet for several months."

Renji growled, eyes narrowing on him. "Yeah, well, just out of necessity."

Ichigo chuckled. "Who says?"

"I say."

For a moment they sat staring at each other, palms growing too warm, a strange smell emitting from the cut glass's decorative openings, fingers on both hands starting to twitch nervously.

Renji grinned, leaning over the table as Ichigo looked apprehensively to his hand over the holder of trapped heat. "First of all, strawberry, you don't use your sword hand. Even Hanatarou knows that."

Ichigo looked to his right hand, smelled the irritated flesh, and then looked to the waitress as she returned with another bottle of saké.

"We're not finished with the last one," Renji said tightly to her, trying to ignore the slow scorching in his palm.

She smiled slightly. "We have thirty bucks on you in the kitchen, Vice-Captain Abarai," she said meekly, giggling as she looked to each of their hands.

"The kitchen help is betting _against_ me?" Ichigo asked in surprise, turning to look to the kitchen doorway but unable to see anything through the foliage draping around them.

"Oh, the dishwasher has ten bucks on you," she added, hesitantly pouring each of them a cup from the half empty bottle before pulling the cork from the new bottle. "This is compliments of the corner table."

She nodded to a far table against the wall, and Ichigo groaned when he saw Ikkaku, Yumichika, and Shuuhei sitting at it, all grinning and watching his table expectantly.

Renji chuckled, gritting his teeth against the heat as the waitress left. He looked to Ichigo. "Well, dandelion?"

At Shunsui's table, Yamamoto was shaking his head, having witnessed the fiasco of table Eight.

"This is your work, Kyouraku?" the General asked, shaking his head before taking a drink of the premium quality saké in his cup.

Shunsui scratched his jaw where the two day's worth of beard was begging for attention. "Not my best work, General. Not my best." He sighed, drinking down the saké in his own cup, trying to ignore the distinctive smell of burning flesh starting to pollute the room. "Oi, but Captains Unohana and Zaraki seem to be friendlier."

Yamamoto nodded. "I noticed that, too." His aged eyes went to the pouch of coins at his side of the table, and then to the bag at Shunsui's side, made of flowered material to match his haori.

"However this ends," he said to the younger man, "I think you can call it a failed match."

Shunsui nodded in disappointment. "I'm afraid so." He added quickly as the general's attention sharpened on him, "Not that I think they were a match, General, but I'd like to think I could have done better for both of them."

"I hope that's what you meant."

Shunsui looked reluctantly to his bag of coins. "Did we agree on an amount?"

"Aghh!" erupted from Ichigo across the room, followed by several words best left unuttered. He grabbed his burnt hand as Renji pointed and laughed at him.

"Ha!"

Yamamoto shook his head, not even looking to table Eight as the two occupants held their damaged appendages and summoned the waitress for bowls of ice water. "In all my years, Kyouraku, in all _your_ years, I haven't seen such a public display of senseless stupidity, and you've had some points in your time."

Shunsui nodded, untying his bag of coins as a shout went up from the corner table and Ikkaku, Yumichika, and Shuuhei joined table Eight and called for another bottle of saké.

"You could say it's still building morale," Shunsui said hopefully as he counted out the coins.

Yamamoto chuckled. "You could."

* * *

**_-Pairings Suggestions Accepted-_**

**_Poll is Up!_**


	18. Form Revision

The vice-captains meeting was a bit livelier than usual, with Renji sustaining an unusual amount of ribbing from his peers until his face was as red as his hair, and then growing a darker shade as he reminded everyone that he had won the candle demo, and still had the blister to prove it. The meeting had closed with Yachiru handing out applications anew, of which she intended to collect the fifteen buck booty to fund her dwindling candy supply.

After the meeting broke Isane headed to her own Division, picking up her pace to reach Momo and Nanao as they turned down a hot dusty street corner. She towered over both of the darker haired women, feeling less feminine in their company, but intent on getting her question answered.

"Sounds like there's been quite a response to the questionnaires," she said leadingly, grinning as Momo looked up at her, smiling a bit.

Nanao nodded, conceding silently that her Captain's venture was both popular and entertaining, albeit at Renji's expense. "Some matches have been turned out better than others."

Isane bobbed a nod, looking to Momo as they neared the section of street that branched out to Fifth Division's sector. "Have you filled one out yet, Momo?" she asked, and then shook her head, knowing the answer. "Have you gotten any response back?"

The smaller girl blushed a little, averting her eyes to the street she was to take. "No. Not yet."

Nanao looked from her to Isane. "The male applicants outnumber the female by a wide margin," she said by way of excuse. "Obviously, it's a system that's going to need some work."

"How did Renji get matched up with that Kurosaki boy?" Isane giggled. "I can't imagine he put down he was looking for a male."

Nanao sighed. "Some of the questionnaires got wet and weren't entirely legible."

Isane nodded, cautious about her next query. "You're not done matching yet?"

Momo shot her a curious look, her steps slowing as she glanced down the street to Fifth Division.

"No," Nanao said, smiling at the taller woman's unvoiced curiosity. "It was just the most recent forms that were rain-damaged."

Momo looked down at the form in her hand. "I'm helping Shuuhei fill one out. I've already turned in one for myself and a _friend_," she said carefully, "and he said he'd submit one if I got one for him."

"And Yachiru gets another fifteen bucks," Nanao said with a shrug. "You know how much that girl's made off the Women's Association and this vice-captains meeting today? Enough to keep her in sweets for a month."

"Not with the way she goes through sweets," Isane said. "Ikkaku's been in twice in the last week with bite marks on his scalp when he tried to hide her licorice. Captain Unohana has threatened to vaccinate him."

Momo giggled, folding her form. "I'll see you later. You better be checking Captain Kyouraku's decisions, Nanao!"

They waved as Momo broke away and followed her own streets. Isane waited until she and Nanao were alone, passing and greeting several lower ranking shinigami on their way through the intersections, until she found the nerve to inquire.

"Has my application come up yet?" she asked, immediately regretting voicing the words. "I mean, well, Captain seems a little happier the last week or so, and she's been talking some, and I think she's ..." Isane faltered to a stop, not finding the fine line between girl-talk and privileged information. "She's been a little different. In a good way. Ikkaku said Captain Zaraki's been in a better mood." She rubbed the back of her neck, trying not to look as awkward as she sounded. "But it hasn't changed the amount of wounded we get from Division Eleven."

Nanao nodded, smiling. "We've been keeping the applicants anonymous." Some of her smile dropped. "It sounded like a good idea until this last match. I think we've still got a few problems with the forms." She gave the other woman a sharp look. "Some of the applicants seem to think the phrase '_Sexual Preference'_ refers to positions desired." She fought off a blush at thoughts of mentioning the wording issue to her captain. "We'll fix the problem before the next forms go out."

Isane nodded, looking to the sunny street they neared that went to Fourth Division. "That's a good idea." She fingered the new form in her hands, folding it too many times until it was hopelessly creased, marked. She unfolded it, stealing a guilty glance at Nanao. "I was just ... wondering. I'll see you at the Women's Association tomorrow."

A smiled touched Nanao's lips as the taller woman parted her company. "Bye, Isane."

* * *

The blunder was on Shunsui's mind all day, too, and he had become scarcer than usual in his office. Nanao didn't find him anywhere in the Eighth Division grounds before or after her vice-captains meeting.

Not even in his day room, as he called it, which meant he spent most of the day napping there, she knew. When she'd finished most of her paperwork after returning from the meeting, she headed home, feeling inordinately alone without finding her captain. She resolved to sorting the few applications that had trickled in from the day, determined to find a better system that would rule out gender misidentification while still keeping privacy intact.

She arrived at her modest quarters as early evening was settling across Seireitei, diluting the scorching afternoon heat with a more tolerable glaze of cool air. She lowered the bamboo blinds over her small living room's windows, straightening the few pillows on the futon near the low table, glancing around at the usual tidiness of the room. She switched on a floor lamp by the futon in the semi-dark of the room.

She got little company, and when she did it was usually Rangiku, searching out Shunsui to go drinking with her. That's not how her fellow vice-captain put it, but Nanao knew, and had heard a variety of excuses from the buxom strawberry-blonde woman, some creative, others thinly veiled lies.

Well-meaning lies, Nanao knew, but sometimes the amount of time her captain spent in the taller woman's company struck a nerve in her.

Not a jealous nerve, she'd always told herself, confident her captain would certainly take her drinking if she chose to accept one of his numerous invitations.

And at times she wondered why she didn't say yes, on occasion, just to see ...

"I don't want to know what its like," she told herself stoutly, now in the bedroom where she took a few moments to slip off her vice-captains armband, placing it on her dresser. "Slobbering drunk, spouting more innuendoes than usual." She took the decorative sticks and combs from her hair, letting it fall low on her back, pushing both hands through the dark tresses until it was fuller around her face, undoing the straightness the severe bun imposed.

She found her ebony brush and pulled it through her hair, smiling at thoughts of receiving the brush.

A gift, from her captain. It wasn't out of place for a captain to present a new vice-captain with a token gift. She knew that.

But most vice-captains received something more generic, less personal. She knew Rangiku had gotten a fancy set of pens from Hitsugaya -- which got little use -- and Shuuhei a book of haikus by his favorite author, but most gifts were more practical tokens.

Except Momo. Aizen had been certain to find the girl's favorite flowering shrub and have it planted outside her office window in Fifth Division, but in hindsight that was probably part of the traitor's deception. To her credit, Momo had dug it up since.

Nanao twisted her hair back into a bun, coiled looser this time, but deciding the weather was too warm to leave it down despite the growing dusk. She went into the small kitchen and started a kettle of water, and then looked to the door as a shuffling sound came from her front porch.

She knew who it was before she reached the door, and smoothed her black robes before opening it, bracing herself at what she was sure to be a drunken captain.

Shunsui grinned back at her as the door opened, tipping his hat, eyes dropping over her fuming features as she looked back at him. He put a steadying hand to the doorframe and bent closer. "You weren't at the office, sweet Nanao, so I came here."

The smell of saké wasn't nearly as strong as she'd expected. "You weren't at the office all day, Captain." She took a step back, eyes going beyond him at the small abodes of the few other ranked officers within sight. "Come in before you fall over."

"Why, thank you, Nanao. I shall."

He stepped in, a waft of saké following him. He looked around the room, nodding to the futon as she shut the door behind him and turned to look at him.

"I like this," he said with a nod, gesturing in a sweeping movement that encompassed the entire space, indicating nothing in the room in particular. "Very... Nanao."

She slipped past him, seeing him sway to watch her, surprised that there was no bottle in his hands. "I know you're not lost."

"No." He pushed his hat back, watching her go into the kitchen where the kettle was making a soft bubbling noise, but not whistling. He stepped over the rattan rug and around the low table, dropping heavily onto the futon cushion. "Mind if I sit down?"

"Sure, Captain."

His eyes remained on her slight form in the kitchen, watching her pour the hot water over the tea net of loose leaves into the slate gray tea pot and set it and two matching cups on a tray. She remained in the kitchen for a few moments, fingers tapping rapidly on the tray side in hopes the tea would steep faster, refusing to look at Shunsui.

She finally discarded the used tea leaves, picked up the tray and brought it into the living room, her attention on navigating around Shunsui's legs, which had sprawled to either side of the table, taking up most of the foot room.

He retracted a leg as she sat on the futon, farther away than he deemed necessary, but closer than he had expected. "How was your lieutenants' meeting?"

She looked to each of his eyes, knowing he didn't really care about the meeting. "Vice-Captain Abarai was a laughingstock after his match."

His lopsided smile dimmed. "Aye, that's why I'm here. Partly why, Nanao." He looked to the forms on the table. "Oh, we've got more? I thought my _faux pas_ on Renji's match would scare others away." He grinned wider, leaning toward her. "That's _Franch_ for dumb shit, Nanao."

"No, it's not," she said, looking to the pot and pouring them each a cup of tea. She handed him one and he took it, his hands steady.

"Thank you, my dear." He glanced at the forms on the table. "We can keep the anonymity of the applicants, but I think it's mandatory to know the gender."

She pulled one of the forms closer, setting it between them on the table, leaning slightly toward him on the cushion. "The gender section is clearly marked. The mix-up came from the forms getting wet." She paused to sip her tea, feeling his eyes rest on her lips, making her swallow quicker.

He nodded, leaning his elbows on his knees, looking back to the forms. "I was thinking about these two today," he said, separating two papers, and then two more. "And these, also. These first two are a definite match."

She gave the forms only a brief glimpse. "Are you sure you want to match applicants while," she hesitated to say the word, and opted for another approach. "We have all day tomorrow, Captain."

"We're not at the office now, Nanao." He smiled, gaze rising from her lips to her eyes, his tone unwavering. "You can call me Shunsui."

She looked back to the questionnaires. "I think we should wait until tomorrow to match anyone."

"Hmm." He nodded, noting her small knee now rested against his leg, and that she seemed either oblivious to it, or tolerant. "I suppose you're right. Oh, I have something I want you to read," he said, reaching into a pocket of his haori, fumbling for a moment as he pulled out a folded stack of papers, sifting through them, mumbling to himself. "I want your opinion on something."

Now her leg backed away from his, the snap coming back into her tone. "Not fan fiction, Captain."

He found the paper he wanted, setting the rest of them on the table. "Just a poem."

"I don't read that stuff." She picked up the tea pot, anxious to busy herself. "Would you care for more tea?"

He set the paper with the others on the table, watching it flip over folded on itself after having been creased for so long. "I suppose not. I should be going." He smiled at her unguarded expression, wishing he could keep it longer. "My intention was not to crowd your evening, sweet Nanao."

"I don't mind your company," she said, the words barely above a whisper. She cleared her throat, keeping her attention on the forms, sitting straighter, pulling slightly away.

For a long moment he studied her eyes, wishing she'd look at him, but not wanting to push the line to which he'd inched nearer. "Good." He drank down the last of the tea in his cup. "I won't sully your reputation with your neighbors." He stood up, nearly unseating her from the futon when they realized she'd sat on the edge of his haori.

She decided to stand up, seeing as she'd been partly ripped off the cushion anyway.

"My fault, Nanao," he said, taking her elbow as her hands brushed nervously at her robes.

She looked to him, adjusting her glasses, and then her attention went to the papers on the table. "We have a problem with a question on the applications and it needs to be corrected, but we can address it tomorrow. Shunsui," she added, feeling her cheeks warm. "A simple revision."

He grinned, nodding, eyeing a loose tendril of dark hair that had fallen from the bun at the back of her head. "Your hair is different."

She put a hand to the comb securing her hair. "It's the same. I just --"

She left off speaking as a knock came to the door, followed by Momo's voice.

"Hello?" her timid tone called from outside.

Shunsui straightened his hat, sighing as he stepped away from the table, knocking into the floor lamp and catching it before it toppled. "I didn't realize you were expecting company. I wouldn't have tarried."

"Oh, it's just ... I wasn't expecting anyone." She followed him to the door, hating her jittery hands as she reached for the latch, finding her breath faster than it should have been.

He smiled, hand moving to the loose wisp of hair that hung at her shoulder. "We'll do our matches tomorrow, Nanao." He let his fingers touch just the ends of the strand, seeing her eyes follow the movement, wondering if she wished Momo had passed on her ill-timed visit as much as he did. "Goodnight."

She opened the door just as Momo was getting ready to knock again. The younger girl looked to Shunsui with surprise, and made a quick bow, wide eyes darting to Nanao.

"Captain Kyouraku! I didn't know you were here," Momo said quickly. "I'm sorry. I --"

"Quite all right, lieutenant," he said, tipping his hat to her, seeing her smile. "Just dropping off paperwork for my overworked lieutenant."

Shunsui moved past Momo as she stood in the doorway, seemingly frozen in the warm evening air. Nanao looked to her with mixed sentiments, unable to decide if she was angry or relieved at the fellow shinigami's interruption, or simply confused by herself.

"I'm sorry," Momo said again, both of them watching Shunsui disappear down the street, the haori merely a patch of muted pink in the growing twilight. She looked to Nanao and held out a form. "Shuuhei finished his questionnaire, and I told him I'd drop it by tonight. He said he was in no hurry and that I could wait until the Women's Association meeting, but I think he's secretly more anxious."

Nanao remembered to nod, and then stepped back, thoughts elsewhere. "Come in, Momo."

* * *

**Next Match: Inner Child**

**_- Pairing Suggestions Accepted -_**

**_Poll is up!_**


	19. Inner Child

Byakuya Kuchiki usually didn't lower himself to eat at the Soul Society Canteen. He generally took his meals in the formal dining room of his estate, or failing that, the less formal dining room. He would have passed on the invitation in his Sixth Division office post box altogether if it hadn't been Rukia's idea. She meant well, having his best interests at heart, and he was still feeling a little guilty for trying to have her executed and all.

But he had no interest in being at the Canteen for dinner, and certainly not for a match. Silly craze, he thought as he sat at table Eight, chilly gaze sweeping the room of lower class shinigami dining elsewhere.

And they were all lower class, despite their rank, except for Captain-General Yamamoto seated with Kyouraku at a table across the room, barely visible beyond the draping ivy and eucalyptus that he found lacking and mundane as decor. He'd been there five minutes already, and he'd give this match another five minutes of his time before leaving. Punctuality was a deciding factor in one's character, after all, and a person, even a woman, less than prompt was --

"Hi, Bya-kun!" Yachiru chirped, suddenly peeking over the table's edge at him, and then leaping onto the curving bench seat behind the table. She stood on the cushion too close to him, smiling her cheery smile that by all accounts should have been cavity-filled. "Are you hungry?"

He frowned, looking back to the dining room. "I have neither the time nor patience for your antics right now, Vice-Captain Kusajishi. Go find one of your own Division members."

She plopped down on her backside, nearly disappearing behind the table, and then hitched herself up on her knees to see better. She returned his scowl for a smile, patting her hand on the table top. "Let's eat."

"I'm waiting on an adult," he told her, refusing to set the free meal coupon on the table, wishing he'd brought a few pieces of candy. "Now go away."

"You're not much fun for a date," she said, giving him a pout. "I thought you'd be nicer."

He looked at her now, this time with a different interest. "A date?"

She nodded rapidly. "Let's have a date."

"With you?" A rare moment of slipped composure passed over him.

"And you." She nodded even more intently. "Now."

He was about to protest, but a gray-robed server approached the table, bowing deeply, nearly afraid to make eye contact with the nobleman as she placed two menus on the table and lit the candle in the single holder of cut glass.

"Welcome, Captain Kuchiki. We're honored by your presence. May I take your orders, please?"

Yachiru spoke up. "I want the pink ice cream, and the chocolate ice cream, and two cupcakes with bunnies on the icing, and two banana puddings." She looked to Byakuya. "Now you tell her."

He didn't consult the menu, instead reluctantly looking to the server, who was trying not to estimate the age difference of the table's diners. "I'll take your finest tea."

"Ooh, yes!" Yachiru hopped to her feet on the seat. "Tea for me, too!"

"Yes, sir," the server said, bowing and collecting the menus as she backed away from the table.

Yachiru leaned too close to Byakuya, breathing cherry lollipop on him she'd eaten on the way to the Canteen. "We'll have a tea party!"

"Sit down," he said crisply as several of the other diners looked to their table. "We're not having a tea party. You can have your sweets, and then we're leaving."

"You have to stay." She dropped back onto her knees, still crowding him in the booth.

He tried not to look at her, tried not to look at anything, at anyone in the room, his attention eventually settling on Shunsui, wondering what he'd done to offend the man to get set-up like this. He scowled. Maybe it was Nanao he'd offended. He never doubted the petite woman who secretly ran Eighth Division had a mean streak if provoked.

But this, he thought, looking to the top of Yachiru's pink head as she hummed a nonsensical tune of her own imagination, this was beyond cruel. Time for a little manipulation.

"I'm surprised Captain Zaraki let you out on a," even thinking about the word left a bitter taste in Byakuya's mouth, but to say it actually hurt, "date."

She looked up at him, blinking eyes half the size of her face. "Uh-huh."

"I'm much older than you."

She nodded. "And taller."

He scowled, waiting as the server returned with a tray bearing the elegant white and delft blue tea pot, cups, and the sweets on dishes. Yachiru's eyes took on a rabid look as the desserts were placed before her, clapping her small hands at each, giggling. When the server was gone, the girl reached over Byakuya and pulled the tea pot closer.

"That's hot," he said with a sudden lurch of paternal wary. "Be careful."

She nodded, already arranging the cups before them, standing on the booth seat for adequate leverage as she poured the fragrant tea into the cups, spilling only a little on the table cloth.

He glanced to Shunsui's table where the captain was setting a small pouch of pink flowered material on the table, shaking his head. Byakuya looked down as Yachiru slid the tea cup before him and grabbed a fistful of sugar cubes from the crystal bowl near the candle centerpiece.

"How many sugars do you want?" she asked, hand posed over his cup.

"None."

Plop, plop.

He sighed, rolling his eyes as she sunk to her knees beside him, sitting on part of his white scarf, making it tug where it was draped languidly across his throat. He pulled at it until she reseated herself to free it.

She pushed a dish of banana pudding before him, and then one of the cupcakes topped by an ornately decorated bunny of pink icing.

"Let's eat." She took a spoonful of the strawberry ice cream and shoved it into her mouth, smiling at him as she mushed it around in her teeth.

He steeled himself and took a sip of the tea, deciding the quality more pleasant that he expected at the Canteen. He looked down as the chocolate ice cream dish was placed where the tea cup had been.

"You should eat it before it gets all melty," Yachiru advised. "Or do you like it all melty?"

"I don't eat ice cream." He set the tea cup farther away on the table.

"Why not?"

"It's too sweet."

She frowned at him as if he was speaking a different language, and he probably was, to her. "Try it anyway," she decided.

"No." He looked around the room to see who was witnessing his humiliation.

"Hurry before it melts."

"No."

"Hurry, Bya-kun!"

"I don't like ice cream," he said testily, sitting back in the booth as several shinigami looked to table Eight.

"Just try it." Yachiru pushed the dish closer to him. "I'll race you!"

With that she shoveled a spoon of strawberry ice cream into her mouth. "Hurry up!" she urged through the mouthful.

Against his better judgment, Byakuya took a large bite of the cold dessert.

"I'm winning!" she said with a giggle, taking another bite.

He took another bite, and then another, until the chocolate ice cream was nearly gone. Suddenly the impact hit him, making a rush of ache bloom over his forehead. He grimaced, putting a hand to his head.

"Are you sick?"

"No," he said, fighting the headache beginning.

Yachiru was on her feet, her hand on his shoulder, her other palm on his forehead, where it stuck with her tacky hand. "Do you have a fever?"

He pulled her hand away, hearing the sticky snap as it parted. "I am not sick, Vice-Captain."

"There you are," Ikkaku said as he appeared in the foliage draped entry to the table alcove. He nodded to Byakuya. "Captain Kuchiki, I'm sorry she's been bothering you."

"We're having a date," Yachiru told him, leaning on her hands across the table, her backend in Byakuya's face. "It's my turn!"

Ikkaku looked behind him before stepping closer to the table. "Let's go now, Vice-Captain."

"I have a date with --"

"Show me your coupon," Ikkaku said, giving her a threatening grin.

Yachiru stood back in the booth seat, face drooping. "Oh."

"You don't have one, do you?" Ikkaku nodded.

She looked guiltily to Byakuya, who was now eyelevel with her. She glanced down at the table, and collected her cupcake and dish of banana pudding, pushing the others in front of Byakuya. "I guess you can eat without me, Bya-kun."

She held her goodies close and leaped over the table, barely avoiding Ikkaku. He bowed to Byakuya. "I'm sorry she was a nuisance, Captain Kuchiki."

Byakuya nodded.

"You shouldn't bother a captain, Yachiru," Ikkaku said as they left the table.

"I was just giving him some company, cue-ball," she said before sprinting out of the Canteen with her treats.

Byakuya sighed in relief, wiping his sticky forehead with a napkin. "Irreverent, undisciplined, over-stimulated child," he grumbled as a commotion arose in the other dining room.

"What do ya mean, dress code? I'm dressed, ain't I?" a shrill female voice cried. "Show me table Eight!"

Byakuya set down the napkin, hearing snickers and a couple off-color remarks come from the other male diners as a feminine figure made a curvy outline between the draped foliage opening at his table. For a moment he looked her up and down, startled at the amount of cleavage showing through the red sling of semi-blouse and skirt that was more loincloth than merely slitted.

Kuukaku Shiba grinned back at him, one hand pushing her dark hair out of her eyes, the other hand on her nearly bare hip. "Well, well, you're certainly everything Yoruichi cracked ya up to be." She gave the dishes on the table an irritated look. "Ya can't even wait on your date to dig in? Expected more than that from ya, Kuchiki-san."

Byakuya stood, arranging his scarf better over his shoulder, swallowing excessively at her abrupt manner. "I'm Captain Kuchiki, of the house --"

"I know who ya are," she said with a wave of her hand, rounding the side of the table opposite him, sliding behind it. She pulled at her white skirt as it got bound up to her side, mumbling an oath as she repositioned it more modestly to fall between her legs.

But not before Byakuya had gotten an eyeful of well-shaped thigh as she made herself comfortable. He sat down beside her, mostly because she'd parked so close to his side. "If I knew you were coming I would have waited to order," he said, moving the used dishes to the other side of the table.

"If ya knew I was coming?" She grinned, resting her forearms on the table, letting her eyes travel over his face for a leering moment. "Isn't that what a match is? Two?"

She dug her coupon out of her halter top and slapped it on the table, at which the server hurried over promptly, looking between the two diners nervously. She bowed, placing two menus on the table, murmuring her apologies as she cleared the dessert dishes and tea service.

"Another pot of tea," Byakuya told her as she bowed and left. He looked to Kuukaku, eyes fastened on her face despite the yawning cut of her shirt. After a moment he realized the subtle scent of spicy musk was her.

"I'm Kuukaku Shiba, House of Shiba, _Kuchiki-san_," she said, drawing out the word, "and since Rukia has already made peace between our names, I guess this is all pleasure, am I right?"

He cleared his throat, nodding, trying not to watch her bosom ebb as she bounced a nod to her own question. "I understand you know Yoruichi Shihôin also?"

"Yup. Just like you, except I suppose we have a different history. Are ya always this," she gestured to his attire, "put together? This is a date, loosen up some."

He looked away from her, finding Shunsui's table, where the set of captains were busy at dinner. "I don't know how we got matched. We clearly have little in common."

She sat back, draping one arm along the booth back until her fingers tapped his shoulder. "We're both of the few noble houses, Kuchiki-san. Not much choice, if ya are so hung up on family names, eh?"

The server returned with their tea and set the pot and cups between them, and left off pouring as Kuukaku shooed her away with a wave. Kuukaku leaned over the table to pour them each a cup of hot tea, sliding Byakuya's before him, offering more of a view of her endowments before sitting back again.

"So, what're ya doing letting yourself get matched up? Run through all the shinigami girls already?"

He gave her a sharp look, intent on sipping his tea. "You're quite vocal."

She nodded, raising her own tea cup to her lips, taking a drink before speaking again. "You're quite dull. You need some spark, ya know that?" A gleam of a different sort came into her eyes. "Do ya like fireworks, Byakuya?"

He cringed at her use of his name. "I don't think we're at the point of given names, Shiba-san."

She shrugged, the movement threatening to heave-ho her top. "Sure we are." Her eyes rose to his hair, searching over his face for a moment, making him fight an uncharacteristic flush. "Let's go somewhere else. Somewhere we can make your kenseikan light up. Flare up a few fireworks. What do ya say?"

Guardedness snapped back over his expression. "You're that pyrotechnic woman, aren't you?"

She grinned, laughing a bit. "Yes, I am." She let her attention wander over the other diners in the room, some of which were watching table Eight, some pretending not to. She looked back to Byakuya, her smile softening a little. "Let's go," she said in a gentler tone, surprising him. "We can sit here and get speculated upon by your colleagues," she said, her voice losing some of its causticity, veering towards susceptible. "Or we can cut out now, and make a real conversation somewhere else. Maybe watch the lights over the mountains. They're up this time of year, ya know."

This time his attention was genuinely on her eyes, now finding the fanaticism absent in them, revealing an almost calm look. Almost, he decided as part of the glint came back as she smiled. Maybe it was just the candlelight, he thought.

He drank down his tea. "Let's do that."

Her smile turned mischievous. "You're on, pretty boy."

As Byakuya and Kuukaku stood and left the alcove of table Eight, Yamamoto pushed a pile of coins back across the table to Shunsui, and then added some from his own bag, admitting to the loss as the younger captain grinned victoriously.

* * *

**_Poll is up!_**


	20. Revisit

Renji accompanied Rangiku down the Karakura Town street sidewalk under skies threatening rain in the warm, humid late afternoon among the other shoppers, each of them garnering attention for different reasons -- he because his very appearance suggested he wanted to pick a fight, she because she offered a magnetic quality that most males couldn't and didn't want to resist.

Renji paid little attention to the store windows and signs until Rangiku stopped before one. She looked closer in the window, her shirt pressing baby blue full moons against the glass pane as she smiled at the clothing inside.

"Ooh, I like this one. Let's go in here, Renji," she said, tugging on his arm absently as he kept walking.

He stopped and turned, frowning at the sign overhead. "You said swimsuits and lingerie. This says vintage resale," he said, looking to the window display of t-shirts and well-worn jeans.

"I just said that to get you to come with me shopping," she said. She looked back to him. "Why _did_ you agree so easily to come to the Living World?"

He shrugged, sticking his hands deeper in his jeans, not liking the false pretenses she'd used on him. "Because you said you wanted a second opinion on lingerie and swimsuits, Rangiku." He nodded to the window display. "But if it's this, I've got other things to do."

"Oh?" She put her hands on her hips, straining the blue blouse she wore unbuttoned too far. "Like who?"

"I didn't say it was a _who_." Tempting as it was to wait for hours and hours while Rangiku changed clothes for a captive audience, Renji had other thoughts on his mind, seeing as there were to be no swimsuits or negligees to ogle. "I'll catch up with you later."

"Hmph," she said, heaving a sigh as he continued on down the sidewalk, her mind racing at who the _not-who_ could be. "Don't get lost!"

He tossed a wave behind him and tried to blend in with the other pedestrians on the sidewalk, but not quite succeeding.

He made his way across town to where Orihime Inoue lived, trying to take his own _good_ advice he'd foisted upon Kira, who'd wasted it on a zipper malfunction. After all, Orihime was pretty, nice, and liked everyone, and there weren't many people, Living or otherwise, that Renji could truly say that about. He didn't need Shunsui to match him up again.

Besides, dropping in on her was unexpected. Unpredictable.

* * *

Orihime smoothed her pale yellow skirt with the ferny-green flowers, turning to look at herself in the oval bathroom mirror of her small apartment, hoping it wouldn't rain before she could get to the restaurant. The tangerine top wasn't as snug as some of her shirts, more modest in that aspect, which was saying a lot with all she had tucked inside it. She pushed her hair to either side of her face, smiling as she speculated who her match could be. Probably not Vice-Captain Kira, she thought. Not after the last time.

A knock came to the apartment door, and she hurried there, coupon in hand, making herself calm as she reached for the doorknob, wondering if it were Tatsuki or her match coming by her place instead of meeting her at the restaurant.

She opened the door, and smiled, surprising Renji.

"Hi, Renji-kun," she greeted, and then corrected herself. "Abarai-san. Hi!"

He grinned a little too eagerly at her cheerfulness at seeing him, stepping in as she gestured a welcome and shut the door behind him. "You don't have to be formal, Orihime."

She nodded quickly. "Okay. I thought we were going to meet at the restaurant, but this is okay, too."

"Oh? I thought we'd go ..." He looked around the small room, then back to her as she stood with her hands behind her back, smiling through a bit of a blush, her words catching up with him. He frowned. "The restaurant?"

"Yes." She brought her hands out from behind her back and looked at the coupon. "I guess we don't have to, since you know where I live." She gave him a confused frown. "How did you know it was me?"

He sighed in realization, more frustrated than he thought he should be, mentally kicking himself for submitting to the lure of _unpredictability_. "You have a date this evening? A match?"

She nodded, slowly comprehending what was becoming an awkward moment. "Not you?"

"No." Dammit, he thought, seeing her face drop a little, hating to admit his own disappointment, detecting the subtle hint of sunflowers pervading her. He worked up a grin. "Well, that's good, right? Any idea who? Not Izuru, I can tell you."

She nodded, giggling. "No, I doubt it."

For a moment they both stood self-consciously looking at each other until he nodded and reached for the doorknob. "I'll get going then, Orihime. Just thought I'd drop by, not trying to get in the way or anything."

"Oh, well ..." She thought for a few seconds, wavering between the polite thing to do and what was expected in the situation. "It was nice to see you again. Renji. Say hi to Rukia for me?"

"Sure. See you later."

Renji opened the door and left, muttering something Orihime couldn't hear.

She closed the door slowly, mixed emotions coursing through her mind. Well, that was nice of him, she thought, nodding. Certainly a kind gesture. She looked down at the coupon. Maybe she shouldn't have accepted the invitation. Trying to broaden her circle of romantic possibilities hadn't worked out so well last time...

She'd gotten halfway across the small living room when another, more stilted knock came to the door. Three knocks, spaced precisely to indicate hesitancy. She knew it had to be Tatsuki this time, despite the sound of the knocking.

She opened the door, a smile ready on her lips, and stared back at the last person she expected to see again. Disintegration was usually permanent.

Ulquiorra looked back at her with his usual staid expression, but this time with a glimmer of light in his deep green eyes. "Hello. Orihime."

Orihime knew she should slam the door shut and bolt it, which would do little if anything for the being on the other side, but instead she found herself admitting a smile. "Hello, Ulquiorra. This is a surprise."

He nodded, eyes traveling over her figure, appreciating the Human wardrobe more than the encompassing white he'd last seen her in, and deciding her present attire more inviting. "I'm here on a ... more," he frowned only slightly trying to think of the term, one that wasn't used very often in Hueco Mundo, and even then usually by Ichimaru, "... leisure condition."

She stepped back as he brought a hand out of his pocket, a familiar coupon in it. "Oh, you have a..." She looked up at him. "This is a match?"

He liked the sound of it. "Yes. We've been matched."

"Oh. Okay..." She added to her smile and stepped back. "Would you like to come in?"

He looked around at the room, not voicing his opinion, something he'd been practicing lately. "Come out."

She nodded and grabbed the umbrella leaning to the side of the doorframe. She stepped into the hall and pulled the door shut behind her. "I kind of thought you were," she frowned at the next word that came logically to mind, "gone."

He nodded slightly as they moved down the hall to where the stairs met her floor. "It's unexpected what that Szayel replicant can do. He's not as adept as the original scientist, but he has his usefulness."

She nodded as they made their way through the apartment building main level and out onto the sidewalk, which was crowded with people hurrying to their next destination as the skies above filled with bright-lined clouds that promised a flash thunderstorm even in sunshine, making Orihime wonder at the possibilities of a rainbow. Ulquiorra squinted in the light of the strange cloud formation that shed a mocking light-shadow cast over Karakura Town.

Orihime glanced at her coupon. It was a good choice for a restaurant, although not the same one as before. She looked back up to Ulquiorra, eyes resting on his collar as he looked to her. "Uh, what kind of food do you like?"

He frowned as they passed down the sidewalk, ignoring the odd looks he got from the other foot traffic. "Like?"

She shrugged, warming to the idea of food types. "You know. Spicy. Sweet. Typical Japanese fare, or other ethnic cuisine. Ooh, do you like Italian or Greek?"

He made a subtle frown, one which would have been lost on most passersby, but which Orihime read too well. "I don't see how it matters what one eats."

"Oh, it does, Ulquiorra." She nodded emphatically. "It depends on your mood, and your taste buds, of course, and other ... things." She sighed. "Are you hungry?"

He didn't know how to explain to her, a simple Living Human female, that he was always hungry, never satisfied, and that his short time with her held captive had appeased that yearning drive for a while. "Not particularly."

She nodded, sticking the coupon back in the slip pocket of her skirt. "Well, I have some money. Maybe we could just get something else." Her smile fell as she saw the other sidewalk traffic give her escort snide looks and even a few disparaging comments. "We could go to the park instead, if you don't want to eat." She looked ahead to where a kiosk offering shakes and smoothies was located, an awning stretching around its sides as a few sprinkles of rain started. "Let's get something to drink," she suggested, not quite ready to put up the umbrella.

Ulquiorra frowned slightly, but nodded.

They went to the beverage stand offering milkshakes, juices, smoothies, and sodas. After a little deliberation, Orihime ordered them both strawberry and kiwi-lime smoothies. The stand attendant gave them a shrewd look, but filled their orders, and Orihime and Ulquiorra moved on towards the park still under renovation for the sesquicentennial celebration as she detailed the activities.

He frowned at the construction, the bumper car arena, the games booths, the dunking tanks, the petting zoo pens, the skills challenges. The neon signs above most of the activities were already blazing in the cloudy evening. He thought back on her explanation of the event. "I don't see what the point is. One-hundred and fifty years. It's not so long of a time."

Orihime slurped at her strawberry smoothie. "It is to humans, Ulquiorra. A very long time. More time than we'll ever see. At least, see here," she added.

He nodded, fighting against what he knew of the Arrancar rationale. "Not something to celebrate. Are you people always so expressive?"

She nodded immediately. "It's a big event for Karakura Park. Everyone comes out. They bring their kids, and everyone has fun. Good things to eat, and lots of games and rides." She described the games and draw of the carnival in more detail, to no avail, as he frowned at the scene, looking over the few acres that encompassed the park, relegating the fun quotient into the aspect of what he knew of the Living World. Much of it didn't make sense to him, and he looked back down to his drink.

Orihime glanced to him as he looked to the straw in his drink. She smiled. "You drink out of it. It's a sort of ..." She nodded. "Conduit. A tunnel. Like this." She put her lips to the straw and took a long sip of her strawberry drink.

He observed, not quite understanding, but nodding and watching intently as her lips closed around the straw end and she slurped the drink. "Why? It serves the same purpose as taking a drink from the cup without the straw."

She nodded, sighing, smiling at his conclusion. "I suppose. But it's more fun."

He thought about her phrasing.

She said, "More leisurely."

He looked to the green-tinted drink and wondered. "Why, if you're so eager to drink this concoction, would you want to delay the wait? It contradicts everything you've said. Orihime."

She nodded immediately. "It's odd, I know, but we -- Humans, Living -- sometimes like to, well, prolong the satisfaction of ... things. Anticipation." She blushed a slight shade of pink, suddenly realizing how subtractive the phrase seemed.

He looked down at the tall paper cup, the green beverage inside, waiting on him as he contemplated it. He gave it a test sip, making a minute face at the sour-sweetness. "I don't see the point of drinking it, or of waiting to drink it, or of the expectancy. It's frivolous."

She sipped her red strawberry drink, the sweetness diluted by ice, and on impulse held the cup up to him. "Try mine. Strawberry."

His green eyes turned down at the cup and straw offered him, not suspecting what he'd expected in a visit to the Living World, especially on a match. He imitated her actions, sipping at the straw, slightly surprised at the fruity berry that met his tongue, unlike the tart kiwi-lime that he'd already tasted.

In a moment of humanness, he lowered his own cup to her, and she smiled, taking a short sip of the straw in the green smoothie.

"Ooh, tart," she said, nodding.

He nodded slowly, trying again to understand the vulnerable emotions she'd provided during her stay at Las Noches. "If this is something you desire, why would you want to deprive yourself of it when it's so near? It's here; why not drink it all at once? Why use a straw? It makes no sense."

"Anticipation. That's part of it."

He frowned slightly. "It is?"

Orihime nodded, understanding all too well what he was and was not saying. "Have you ever, Ulquiorra, not had a hunger filled? A desire unmet?" She blushed fuller. "A question gone unanswered?"

He nodded immediately, filling in answers to himself more than she had expected. He stood taller, contemplating the green drink as the rain started a mist around them.

Orihime popped open the umbrella, holding it over them to shade them both, the slight sprinkle over them growing despite the bright, mocking sunlight around them.

He looked to the carnival surroundings, the precipitation making the view seem hazy. "I don't see the reasoning." He looked to her, his hand gripping the umbrella handle, his fingers grazing against her softer ones as he did, the pulse of warmth and subtle flesh her hand offered making him call back other times. She smiled and stood closer, the misting rain falling around them as he looked to the park.

"All so frivolous," he said as the watched the tepid rains descend upon the park.

"Just for fun, Ulquiorra," she said, looking out over the park. "People bring their family and loved ones, and just mill about and be together." Her thoughts focused inward and she thought about how it would sound to him. "I suppose it doesn't make any sense to you, but it's just for fun. Amusement, I guess." She gave him a small smile. "No reason, really."

He tried to understand.

"I'm surprised we got matched," she said.

In abrupt honesty, as was his tendency at rarer moments, Ulquiorra said in a quieter tone as they watched the park saturate slowly with rain, "I'm not."

"We don't have that much in common," she said in oblique surprise, both standing under the umbrella as the rain gathered in strength.

He should have nodded in agreement, but that wouldn't have been altogether truthful, so he admitted the small allowance of a single nod. "I answered the questions on the application to reflect you," he said, unaware of the impact the words had on her, and not adding that he wanted to see if he knew her as well as he thought.

"You weren't being truthful?" she said, her voice faltering as the rain fell harder around them.

"Yes, I gave truthful answers," he said, surprising himself. "But I also wanted to see you, outside Las Noches, for a few moments. Not to collect you."

She smiled, looking down at the rain running to the side of the street to the gutter drain along the park sidewalk. "I like to know you're not ..." she hunted for the right word. "Gone."

They watched the park become subject to the rain, a heavier shower now that permeated the air with water, making the scant traffic on the sidewalk scatter quickly for cover.

"I suppose there is some gain in familial frivolity," he finally said as the rain splashed around them on the cement. "But I still don't understand the attachment. Not completely."

"It takes a while." She nodded, content in ways she normally wasn't. She looked down as the black-nailed fingertips of his free hand cupped lightly under her fingers at her side, barely a touch that should not have been noticed.

But she did notice.

His fingers lifted hers, his eyes on hers as she looked up to him, the umbrella cascading rain around them. For a fleeting moment his expression softened, a brief lowering of defenses. He nodded, and rubbed a thumb over the back of her fingertips as she kept his gaze, eyes following his as he looked to their hands.

"It was gratifying to see you again," he said, using a word he hadn't in a very long time.

She smiled, her fingers curving over the tips of his as he gave her the umbrella handle.

"The green is a good taste," he decided, lifting the cup of kiwi-lime smoothie.

She nodded, smiling.

"It was good to see you again. Orihime."

She smiled more. "You too, Ulquiorra."

He nodded, pulling his hand from hers, watching her gaze drop to their fingers, and then back up to his face. "Goodbye. Woman."

She nodded, and his fingers left hers. He turned and walked back down the wet sidewalk as the rain fell gently around him. She watched him leave, wishing he'd stay for just a little longer. The rain encompassed his form in the distance.

When he was out of sight in the rain and sparse sidewalk traffic, she turned back to head home, something in her soul satiated.

* * *

**_-Pairings Suggestions Accepted-_**

**_Poll is up!_**


	21. Male Applicant

Nanao had developed an aversion to sitting at table Eight in the Soul Society Canteen in the late afternoon hours, particularly if she was without another member of her Division, and sometimes even then. It was her Captain's table still, she assured herself, delegated to Eighth Division, off limits to anyone not expressly invited to it.

All the Divisions had their own tables, sunk back in tucks of foliage against one of the two exterior walls in the higher ranking officers' dining room, with other tables congregated in the center and a few at the corners for any shinigami ranking third seat or higher.

Sitting at the table alone nearing the evening hours gave the appearance of waiting for an unknown dining companion. That's how it had been since her Captain's matching business had taken hold in the ranks.

But there she sat that late afternoon, hoping no one would mistake her for a lost bookend awaiting her match. Shunsui was late, and she had a good guess he was loitering with Rangiku at some back porch with a bottle of saké in his hand. Probably one in her hand, too.

She looked up from her stack of papers as a shadow fell across the alcove's foliage entry. Juushirou smiled back at her.

"Well, I see you've outpaced your captain again, Vice-Captain," he said, cocking his head to one side. "May I join you?"

"Of course, Captain Ukitake." Nanao stood and bowed slightly at Juushirou as he took a seat opposite her in the booth.

He inhaled deeply, sitting straight in the booth seat, nodding at the ivy and eucalyptus hanging around them. "I like this. Clears the sinuses and lungs." He exhaled in a muted cough. "Maybe not too much for the lungs. Has quite the expectorant affect."

Nanao nodded, watching him breathe slower. "Table Thirteen has no eucalyptus?"

He looked across the room to where Kiyone and Sentarou were sitting together, both watching table Eight. "No, now that you mention it, it does seem odd. We have ivy only." He looked to a eucalyptus leaf hanging nearby. "Maybe I should look into that for us."

Nanao nodded, the papers in her grip slightly wilted from the day's humidity, her eyes going to the few pages in Juushirou's hands. "Do you have questionnaires to return, Captain?"

"Hmm? Oh, sort of." He looked down to the papers he held, sorting through them for a moment. "I have a friend who is in serious need of help in the romance department." He smiled his usual smile, one that had a reputation of melting even the stiffest female heart in Soul Society, with the exception of perhaps Captain of Second Division, and placed a form between him and her. "I figure you know Shunsui as well as I do, maybe even better, in some aspects. Would you help me fill out an application for him, Nanao?"

She blinked at him in surprise, the usual set of her mouth falling in momentary slackness. She snapped a dutiful smile on her lips, nodded, and leaned closer to the form. "I'd be happy to help, Captain."

"Good."

A gray robed server came up to the table, bowing deeply to Juushirou, and setting the table with his usual lemongrass tea. "Would you care to order, Captain Ukitake?" she asked.

He nodded. "A basket of sesame crackers and a dish of sage honey, please." He looked to Nanao. "Care for anything else?"

"No, thank you."

"That will be all. Put it on my table's tab," he added as the server bowed again and left.

"You didn't have to do that," Nanao told him. "Shunsui would have gladly ..." She cleared her throat. "Captain Kyouraku wouldn't mind paying."

He grinned at her slip and leaned over the table, pushing the form closer so she could better see it as she poured him a cup of tea. "Ah, that we can say about him, can't we?"

Nanao nodded, calming the faint blush that threatened her cheeks.

"Help yourself to some tea, too, Nanao."

"Thank you, Captain."

She did so, and then looked to the form. "Oh, you have an old one. Here, we have an updated version now." She found a revised form in her stack of papers and exchanged it for his. "Not much has changed."

He glanced over the form as a ripple of low laughter came from one of the other tables. He and Nanao looked to it. At one of the corner tables Shuuhei, Renji, Izuru, and Momo were passing around a few papers. Izuru was flushed, looking to Momo, who was equally red-faced.

Juushirou shook his head, taking a long drink of tea. "Our own literary society. You know it's mostly fan fiction they critique."

Nanao nodded as the server returned with the crackers and a dish of scented honey and took her leave. "Where do they get the fan fiction?" she asked with more interest than she wanted to admit, sipping her tea. "I know they pass it around at the Women's Association, but that's just what Rangiku and Rukia bring in."

He looked to her with a grin. "Nothing of your own?"

She nodded too quickly. "Not really. I don't think there's ..." She poured him more tea and then herself. "I don't read much of any of it."

"You should." He nodded to the table of vice-captains. "They claim to critique haikus Hisagi brings in, but you know it's more than that." Some of the humor left his tone. "As long as they're kind to my Sougyou, they can have at their critiques."

She nodded. "It's a very popular serial, Captain. I'm sure it has rave reviews."

He allowed a modest nod and took a cracker from the basket. "For the most part." His attention went to the form before them and he pointed to a question. "Ah, here. This is different. _'I am a blank seeking a blank.'_ That's a change."

"It helped clear up some matters," Nanao said uneasily, unsure she wanted to aid in creating an application for her Captain. "Don't you think he might recognize himself? I mean, he does all the matching, Captain. Surely he'd know this was him."

Juushirou thought the question over, dipping the cracker in the honey and popping it into his mouth, nodding after a moment. "Well, if he does, then he can correct the parts we get wrong. What better way to find his own match?"

She frowned over the paper, bemusedly nibbling at a cracker. "Suppose he doesn't want to be matched?"

"Of course he does. A man with a heart that large needs to fill it in with someone, Nanao." He kept his eyes on the form, pen posed over a line. "How would you describe him? I've already got fun-loving yet earnest. What else?"

"Ha!" Omaeda's voice boomed across the room as he entered and settled at the table of vice-captains as Soi Fon departed from his escort. He held up a paper in his meaty hand and grinned at the others. "I found one!"

Soi Fon rolled her eyes and kept walking toward the kitchen doorway, but not before throwing a curious glance to table Eight.

Juushirou gave Omaeda a brief glimpse and looked back to the application in front on him and Nanao. "Not much fan fiction for Omaeda, I'm afraid."

"Not much." Nanao's eyes traveled over the paper where Juushirou's neat handwriting had filled in many of the answers. "It looks to me like you've completed most of it already."

He frowned at the last section, pen tapping the '_Personal Comments'_ heading. "He can't very well brag too much about himself."

Nanao smiled. "But he would. Most of it would be true. He's very generous, and thoughtful, but we can't write that. It would sound conceited."

"Hmm, you're right." He wrote for a moment on another line. "We can put those in '_Ideal Character Qualities_.' It suits him _and_ whoever should be matched with him."

She nodded slowly. "That would work."

"What else?"

She looked over the application, knowing the questions by heart, but never considering them in the manner she now did. "He's patient, and trustworthy in most aspects. And very experienced ..." Her eyes grew large as she shook her head quickly. "No, not that. It sounds ...well, _bad_. I meant he's been a captain in Soul Society for a long time, and he's seen a lot of life."

Juushirou nodded, smiling, pen making marks on the line. "I think I know what you mean, Nanao. Skilled. Knowledgeable."

"Yes. That's it."

He studied the top of her dark head as she bent over the form, concentrating on the answers he'd already supplied. After a moment she looked to him.

"I think your answers describe Captain Kyouraku very well," she decided, smiling a little more. "You certainly do know him."

"Good." He wrote Shunsui's name at the top of the form and slid it to her. "Can you make sure this gets to your files?"

"Of course, Captain Ukitake. Oh, uh, Captain Kyouraku handles the money part. He's been running a little low on funds lately." She couldn't suppress a sheepish giggle. "Lots of form fees the last week."

"I'll pass." He looked over to table Thirteen where Kiyone and Sentarou were, for once, having a somewhat civil conversation. He sighed. "I hate to break that up, it's so rare. I'll just slip out and let them have their moment."

A rumble of laughter came from where the vice-captains sat, and Nanao looked there to see Omaeda's face taking on a flaming flush. He snatched a paper from Shuuhei's hands as the vice-captain read aloud. Rangiku yelled a '_Yoo hoo!_' to them as she joined the table with a large stack of papers. She dropped them beside Renji and took a seat between him and Momo. Shuuhei waved to a server for another bottle of saké.

"Maybe you should join them," Juushirou said, nodding to her peers. "It looks like fun."

"Oh, no." She shook her head.

"Shunsui might be a while, Nanao. He had a meeting with Captain General Yamamoto." He saw the flicker of agitation cross her face. "Oh, nothing important. Nothing you need to be there for, Nanao. Some issue about Division expenses," he said with a chuckle. "I'm sure he'll be here later."

She nodded as he stood and glanced to where his third seateds were conversing lowly at his own Division's table. He looked back to Nanao and returned her small smile.

"I'll wait on Captain Kyouraku," she said, gathering the questionnaires closer, placing the most recent on top for her further scrutiny. "Thank you for thinking of him."

He nodded and left, sneaking past his officers caught up in their conversation at table Thirteen. Nanao looked back to the top form.

With a cautious look around, she picked up her pen and set it to the '_Personal Comments'_ section.

* * *

**Next match: Porridge Four Ways**

**_Poll is up!_**


	22. Porridge Four Ways

The figure at table Eight that evening was not often seen at the Soul Society Canteen, and when he did eat there, it was usually alone, or with his quiet lieutenant at his side. Most other shinigami gave him the right of way, similar to the influence Zaraki had, but for vastly different reasons.

Across the room Yamamoto looked to Shunsui opposite him at the table. "You know no good can come of this," he said to his former student, judging the look on the man's face. "At least you've got the sense to know a mistake when you see one."

Shunsui's expression turned painful as he nodded slowly, eyes on table Eight. "I think you're right on this one, General." He groaned and finished the first cup of saké in what he planned as many during the evening that promised to be excruciating for one of his matches. "Maybe it won't be so bad."

Yamamoto gave him a sharp look. "There's a reason he had to create his own lieutenant," he reminded, filling his cup from the bottle of high priced saké Shunsui had ordered.

They watched with rising misgivings as Isane stepped timidly into the dining room reserved for ranked officers, hopefulness eclipsing her shyness as her eyes went to table Eight. She made her way through the tables already filled with diners, a few of them following her as she went to peek into the alcove of eucalyptus and ivy partially hiding table Eight. Her face fell as she looked to the occupant seated there.

It took a while for her to recognize him, accustomed only to seeing him in full make up and one of his intricately designed hats, when she saw him at all. But this time his appearance was much sparser in nature, a simple thick band of black painted across his gold eyes and face from ear spot to ear spot, more mask-like than anything else.

She swallowed nervously, the shock clearly obvious in her expression and step backwards. "C-Captain Kurotsuchi?"

He'd watched her recoil at his appearance, a typical reaction he'd seen from many of his own subordinates. He gestured to the booth. "Vice-Captain Kotetsu, please sit down."

She took a seat across from him, realizing she was holding her breath, exhaling shakily. "How are you? Captain."

He smiled, a strange expression on his gaunt face, watching her growing nervousness. "Well. And yourself?"

"Oh, I'm," she nodded, at a loss as to what she'd written on her application to result in being matched with him, "okay."

He nodded as a gray robed server stepped up to the table, unmasked suspicion on her face as she looked between the diners. "Welcome ... Captain. May I take your orders?" she asked, sliding menus to each of them.

Mayuri looked to Isane, who was watching him closely with evident guardedness. "Care for tea -- may I call you Isane?"

She nodded numbly.

"Tea for both of us, and we'll order when you come back," he said to the server.

She nodded and quickly left.

Isane's attention dropped to the elongated blue fingernail on his hand, and then back over him. He was leaner than she'd expected, not that she'd ever given it much thought, somehow appearing less bulky in his captain's robes sans hat or mask. It surprised her a little that he even had hair, albeit of a dark blue cast.

And shorter than she recalled, at least while seated. More so than most men with which she'd sat.

He took a menu and opened it, looking over the selections. "Who were you expecting?"

Isane blanched and looked to her own menu, mechanically picking it up and opening it. "I didn't really expect anyone, in particular."

"No?" He studied the menu descriptions. "You've obviously put some thought into the evening." His eyes turned to her over his menu, gaze inching over her face and attire until she felt like squirming. "It's taken you some time to plait that hair, choose a," he took a sniff, "suitable perfume. Which is pleasant, by the way," he added as a blush settled over her pallid features. "You didn't have anyone in mind?"

Isane looked at the menu items that were becoming a blur as she tried to remember what the Canteen offered. "Perhaps one of the others, another Division Four member or maybe another lieutenant."

He closed the menu and set it down on the table as the server returned with tea service. She placed the tea and pot on the table, her hand slightly shaky as she lit the single candle in the domed centerpiece, looking from Isane to Mayuri in turn.

"Would you care to order now, sir?" she asked in a meek tone.

Mayuri looked to Isane as she closed the menu. "Have you decided?"

She nodded, swallowing as she looked to the server. "I'd like your porridge sampler and a side of rice cakes, please."

A scarce look of surprise crossed Mayuri's face. "Is that all?"

Isane nodded.

He shrugged, chuckling. "I'll take your pike with soba and wakame."

The server bowed. "Very good, sir. Thank you."

He watched her leave, and turned back to Isane, who looked only slightly less petrified to be matched with him. "Nemu speaks of you on occasion."

"Oh?" Isane fought down an irrational fear and reached for the tea pot and cups. "Would you care for tea?"

"Yes, thank you." He watched her pour the hot liquid into the cups, pushing one to him, her fingers slightly trembling. "If she had the capability to enjoy, I'd say she enjoys your Women's Association meetings. I should fix that," he said more to himself than her. He took a drink of the tea, watching her raise her own cup, both hands on the sides. "I don't think elevating the enjoyment factor would detract from her productivity."

"That would be ... nice for her." Isane shook her head, sipping her tea, searching her memory for common topics for discussion. The tea was too hot, and she set it down, then smiled a bit. "I read your last article in the _Seiretei Communication_ last month. It was very ... enlightening."

This time there was more behind his smile. "Oh, you read my articles?"

She nodded, leaning her forearms on the table, warming slightly to the subject. "Yes, every month. Captain Unohana speaks highly of them, especially your medical journal entries." She thought for a moment, recalling the article. "_Effects of Accelerated Senses on the Male Arrancar Motor Cortex_," she said, smiling more. "That was especially interesting."

He sat straighter, nodding at her attention. "A departure from my normal collection, but a personal favorite study of mine." He watched her sip her tea, noting her posture was more lax at the mention of his work. "You're a rather tall woman, Isane, and I must say it's refreshing to see that you don't stoop."

She frowned a little, setting her cup down.

He cocked his head to one side, observing her shift in discomfort. "Your height bothers you?"

She took a deep breath, and then refrained from answering as the server returned with a large tray bearing their orders. The small woman placed assorted dishes and bowls on the table, pushing two rectangle dishes with two compartments each in front of Isane, along with a small plate of rice cakes topped with black sesame seeds, and a plate of fish and accompaniments before Mayuri.

"Thank you," he said to the server as she bowed and left the alcove. He saw a few other shinigami at the tables beyond the greenery watching table Eight with curiosity. He looked back to Isane. "You were saying," he said leadingly.

She was hoping he'd forget. "It's uncommon, and it seems to keep some people at a distance," she said in as neutral tone as she could. She didn't look to him, focusing on mixing the crab, pine nuts, and mushrooms into the dish section of juk.

"You mean to say _men_." He watched her stir the rice porridge with her chopsticks, puzzled in more ways than one. He looked to her other dishes. "Two rice porridges and one each of millet and oats. You're rather fond of grains?"

"Oh, yes, and porridge is so versatile." She smiled, stirring a spoon into another bowl of oatmeal with raisins and chopped almonds. "My favorite."

He nodded, watching as she took a spoonful to her lips. "It's a simple procedure, removing part of one's height. A few inches, or more if desired."

Isane gulped down the oatmeal, missing the sweetness altogether of the tamarind syrup as she realized what Mayuri was proposing. "Remove?"

He nodded, attention on salting the fish on his plate. "As much or as little as you like, although for aesthetic reasons I wouldn't recommend too much, not if you're interested in symmetry." He took a bite of the fish and nodded, chewing. "Too much removed and the rest of your limbs and general balance would be compromised. But that can be remedied, too."

Isane swallowed down the oatmeal, spoon hovering over another dish as she stared at him. "It's not that much of an issue, Captain Kurotsuchi."

He looked to her as he picked another piece of fish with his chopsticks. "You're certain?"

She nodded, feeling a chill creep up her spine after her initial lift in comfort in his company. "I've gotten used to it." She took a bite of millet, dismissing the less savory aspects of becoming shorter. "But thank you for offering a solution."

He nodded. "If you ever change your mind, Isane, let me know."

"Okay." For several long moments they ate, unaware of the eyes from Shunsui's table that were glimpsing occasionally the strange pairing at their table.

"As for men," Mayuri said suddenly, making Isane look up from her dinner, "you shouldn't let stature or the excess thereof bother you. Perfection is highly overrated."

She nodded slowly.

"I myself am not particularly concerned with the intricacies of male-female attractions, or any variation thereof, but it makes for fascinating study of action and counteraction among the population, don't you think?"

"Oh, well, I..." she looked at her tea for a moment, and sighed, "actually, Captain, I am interested in those intricacies."

He nodded, grinning just a bit at her hesitancy to answer.

She looked to him, bracing herself for her next question. "If you're not of a..." she summoned her courage, "romantic mind, Captain, why did you want to be matched? If I may ask."

"You may." He glanced to where Shunsui and Yamamoto sat, the younger man pouring them both a cup of saké. "Nemu filled out an application for me, and I accepted the invitation to dinner. I am not interested in a match, Isane, but I was intrigued to see who would be my dinner companion." He watched her sigh, estimating her relief at the answer. "I presume our fields would overlap in some areas, at least enough for Captain Kyouraku."

"I never really thought about it before," she admitted, lifting the pot and pouring them both more tea when he gave her a nod, "but we do."

He watched her set the pot down and hand him the cup, noticing that this time her hand was steady. "I'm embarking on a series of articles for the _Seiretei Communication_ on which I would appreciate your input."

"Me?" she asked with surprise. "You mean, to ask Captain Unohana --"

"No, I mean you, Isane," he said, slightly amused at her startle. "I've tentatively titled the series _A Theory on Kyouka Suigetsu and its Impact on Mass Presumption_, or something along that line. The exact title is tenuous yet."

"Kyouka Suigetsu," she murmured, nodding slowly, chopsticks toying with a few grains of rice porridge. "The methods Aizen used ... A series of articles?"

He nodded. "I think your first-hand observation on the subject would lend a perspective to the subject I may be overlooking." He was unsure how to request something of someone not immediately under his command, an issue he detested in the few opportunities he forced upon himself periodically. She was still watching him, her inordinately large eyes expecting him to elaborate. "Isane, would care to review notes for the article I'm researching?"

She smiled fully, surprising herself for different reasons this time. "I'd be ... Well, yes, Captain Kurotsuchi. Me? Are you sure?"

He nodded, pouring them both the last of the tea from the pot. "Neutral ground, if you like, here at the Canteen at my table, or somewhere less public, unless you'd be willing to," he frowned over the unfamiliar approach of delicacy in requesting, "find time to come to my office."

"Oh," she said without thinking, "oh, well..."

He shrugged. "Or elsewhere."

She nodded. "Yes."

"Then it's settled. I'll have Nemu get you my preliminary notes to bring you current, and we'll go from there."

She nodded more enthusiastically, the idea growing on her. "Thank you, Captain."

Across the room most of the eyes from other diners had lost interest or settled into confusion at the couple at table Eight for the evening, except for the table where Shunsui and Yamamoto sat. Both men sat considering the matched couple, neither able to determine the success of the dinner.

"Well, I'd say that one's a draw, General," Shunsui said hopefully. He sat back in his chair, grinning lazily and with some relief at the older man. "What do you say?"

Yamamoto frowned, studying table Eight's occupants, unable to interpret the body language of either Mayuri or Isane. "I say we split another bottle of saké and call it a night, Shunsui." He looked back to the smiling man across the table. "But the next one's double the stakes."

* * *

**Next Match: Moment in Memory**

**_-Pairing Suggestions Accepted-_**

**_Poll is up!_**


	23. Moment in Memory

The Blue Lantern was one of Karakura Town's somewhat intimate restaurants, catering to a more after-hours crowd without becoming nightclub, and offering no dancing and only low-key techno music meandering around in the background among booths and a few tables.

The overstuffed upholstery of the teal seats and surreal atmosphere of bubbling liquid curtains in blues and pinks separating the booths was beginning to wear on Rangiku as she ordered her third spritzer of the evening. She put one elbow on the table that was awash in pink and blue swirls from the lights, picking the straw out of her tall drink, her blue eyes leveling on the other table she could see in the eerily lit restaurant, having munched through half a plate of persimmon thins already.

And no sign of her match yet.

"Must be Shunsui's idea of prank," she mumbled aloud, stabbing a maraschino cherry in her drink with the end of her straw and drowning it in white wine, grenadine, and apricot juice. "This better not be a set-up with Ichigo or that Chad kid."

Not that Rangiku had been alone for the forty minutes of her increasingly frustrating wait. She'd turned the eye of every male in the room when she'd strolled into the restaurant and found the table indicated on the coupon. There'd also been a few men from the bar wander over to inquire of -- and then persist to replace -- her dinner companion.

She pulled at her mid-thigh length navy skirt that creeped up a bit on the high side, even for her, when she sat down. Even her ordinarily plunging neckline was decidedly more modest this time in the pale pink blouse. It hadn't been a calculated choice; the scoop neck blouse simply hadn't settled as far as it usually did.

She stuck the cherry end of the straw in her mouth and ate it. "Five more minutes," she promised herself as the music changed to a slightly more upbeat tempo. She pushed her hair out of her face, her hand appearing strangely colored in the decor lights. "Five more minutes, and then I start telling Shunsui's secrets for this _joke_."

She reached for another persimmon cookie on the glass dish center on the table, and then looked up as a shadow muted pinks and blues from the light curtain. For a fleeting second she was quite sure it was her imagination, and then Gin's grin of true appreciation made her swallow the half-chewed cherry abruptly, her heart double-skipping.

He smiled wider, looking a bit thinner than usual in the charcoal gray shirt and black trousers he wore, one hand on the booth's topside as he considered her surprise. "Ya ain't armed, are ya, Ran?"

She sighed, closing her eyes momentarily as he took the booth seat opposite her. She focused on him sharply. "You've got a lot of nerve, Gin. A _lot_ of nerve."

"Oh, yeah, I figured ya be mad still," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Geez, these things itch. Does your gigai make ya itch?"

She shook her head, trying to rein in her delight and anger at seeing him again. "Must be Szayel's workmanship." She leaned her arms on the table, estimating the man across from her despite her shock. "That's what's on your mind, Gin? An itchy gigai?"

"Not really." He looked over her hair, a little longer than he remembered it to be, the color slightly off in the odd lighting of the room. "I missed ya."

"You're the one that left. As usual," she added, her eyes steadfast on him lest he disappear into the bubbly lighting like an ecliptic trick of the eye. But he was still there, watching her through those eyes she'd seen on rare occasion, but knew to be keenly observant.

"How ya been?"

She didn't tell him the truth, instead shrugging, seeing him grin at the movement. "Managing." She finished the last bit of her drink all at once as the waitress came up to their table.

"Hello, welcome to Blue Lantern," she said, placing a menu on either side of the table. "Are you ready to order now or would you like drinks first?"

"Two more of whatever the lady's drinking," Gin decided, attention going to the glass dish of cookie thins. "And another catch of persimmon crisps."

"Very good. I'll be right back with that." The waitress smiled and left.

Rangiku's heartbeat had settled only to a more moderate rhythm, the surreal jolt of seeing him again becoming less shock and leaning more toward something else. "Why are you even here? Not enough Arrancar women in Hueco Mundo?"

Part of the grin slipped from Gin's face. "I told ya, Ran. I missed ya." He frowned, leaning his arms on the table, fingers edging to the plate of thins. "I was hoping it would be ya. Hoping I put the right things on the order form to get matched up to ya."

"It was not an order form," she said with a sigh, watching him take a cookie.

"Nothing like these in Hueco Mundo," he said, looking fondly at the thin. "Food there is terrible."

"Serves you right. How'd you get an application, anyway?"

He grinned, shrugging. "Who were ya hoping for?"

She shook her head, wishing the spritzers were either more potent or that she'd never had one, unsure whether she wanted to plow through the evening with more questions Gin would dance around answering or drink enough to chalk his presence up to alcohol-induced wishful thinking.

"I am sorry," he said, squinting at the cookie in his fingers, the line of a smile crooking at one corner. "I _am_ sorry about it all, Ran."

"Then why?" As she said it, the waitress returned with a platter. She placed two more tall pink drinks on the table, setting one before each of them, and another dish of persimmon thins by the first.

She took Rangiku's empty glass as the woman stared at Gin, who continued to toy with the cookie in his fingers. "Ready to order?"

Rangiku looked to the unopened menus, as did Gin. His attention went to her.

"Ya want to get something to snack on, get out of here?" he asked.

She nodded.

* * *

Ten minutes later Rangiku and Gin were back on the Karakura Town streets in the early evening, the sidewalk lamps winking on overhead in the growing dusk, the clammy air heavy around them. The pedestrian traffic was moderate, mostly couples. To the casual observer, the tall man and strawberry-blonde woman would have fit into the crowd, and fit together perfectly.

But they didn't, and Rangiku knew it. The small talk they'd made as they waited for the waitress to package up the carton of mixed ginger thins and dried persimmon slices had been lacking, neither saying what they wanted to really say nor what they knew they should say.

She walked at his side on the sidewalk, a proximity she'd yearned for for months but unsure what to do with it now. "Why'd you leave?" she finally said, the impact of the last spritzer catching up with her. "As smart as you are, Gin, it makes no sense."

He nodded, frowning down at the top of her head when she refused to look at him. "I've been wondering about that a lot lately myself, Ran."

"That's not an answer," she said, picking a ginger thin from the carton he offered. "You threw away our whole past for what? Follow some narcissistic windbag? You're smarter than that."

He shrugged, watching her lips close around the thin as she took a bite. "I used to think I was, but ... Hey, how's that bantam rooster captain of yours?"

She snatched the carton from him, bringing a genuine frown to his mouth. "He's not a bantam; he's nearly full-grown, and he's doing fine, Gin. Becoming a real man, with real responsibilities toward the things and _people_ he cares for."

"Ooh, ouch, Ran. That was right to the heart," he said, grinning hopefully and putting a hand to his chest.

Her eyes followed the movement. "Didn't they make you get rid of that when you took up residence with that psychopath?"

He shrugged, taking another dried persimmon from the carton as they walked beneath the maple trees, eating the fruit in a single bite. "No, I left it in Soul Society."

She stopped walking, glaring at him as he took a few steps before halting, turning to look back at her on the now empty sidewalk. "You did, didn't you, Gin? You left everything back there. You left me, your life, your ... all of it... Me." She'd meant to say it all sharply, but it came out stilted. She tried to keep the frailty from seeping into her tone, forgetting the carton in her hand. "You left me alone."

He sighed, nodding slightly as he took the few steps back to her. For a moment the regrets outweighed his decisions, decades of youth and childhood spent together resurfacing. "I didn't intend to leave that way, Rangiku. I really didn't."

Her eyes focused on his lips as he said it. "But you did intend to leave." Her gaze rose to his. "What does he offer that you didn't have already? To sit among the stars? What then?" For the first time she voiced the unsettling thought that had plagued her the last few months. "Heaven is a long way down to fall from --"

"If ya fall," he began, but she didn't yield.

"He can't keep all those Arrancars on a leash forever." Her concern inched forward, glad there was no one around to overhear their conversation. "What about after you've outlived your usefulness to him? You've seen what he does to his own." Her voice softened as he took the final step closer. "Do you want to keep looking over your shoulder for who's next to move up, Gin?"

"I look over my shoulder now, Rangiku," he said with a sigh, the smile absent from his face, one hand resting lightly on her shoulder, just beneath the cascade of wavy auburn hair. "I look there and I see ya, all those years together and wonder what kinda fool I am for leaving, and for staying gone. I think of ya every night, and it's always night there, even when they make the sun shine for weeks on end," he said, hand sliding to the back of her neck, watching her eyes estimate him. "No life there, save for memories, and not enough of 'em, I can tell ya."

She looked down as his other hand went to the waist of her skirt, easing around her, gently pulling her closer. "Then come back," she said, placing one hand on his chest, hating that she still felt content in his arms, feeling his heartbeat quickening beneath her fingertips. "Come back," she said, then added as he shook his head, "come back to me. I miss you, Gin."

His arm tightened, anchoring her closer to him, her lithe form pressed to his, eclipsing mere recollection as the carton fell from her hand and her arm came around his waist. His lips met hers in warm contact, her hand running up his shirt to his neck, fingers curling against his skin to bring his face lower. She still smelled of almond oil as he recalled, tasted of ginger and the fruity alcohol, her hair soft beneath his hand, tempting him to create new memories to replace ones of forsakenness.

But then she pulled away from him, her lowered eyes still on his mouth for a moment before rising to his, which were now partly open, revealing a rare glimpse of light blue as he watched her.

"You won't come back?" she said lowly, more as a statement, resigned to already knowing the answer.

"I wanted to see ya again, Ran," he said carefully, his fingers entwined in her hair, falling through the length as she eased away from him. "Didn't say goodbye the right way last time."

She swallowed shakily. "That's all this is, Gin? Another farewell?"

He didn't like the finality of the words when they came from her. "Looks like it. For now."

She closed her eyes, sighing, her hand sliding down from the nape of his neck as she looked back to him, this time with raw regret instead of surprise in her gaze. "Then I guess it is. For now."

She stepped back, her arms dropping from him, one hand smoothing her blouse at her waist as she glimpsed the carton of spilled ginger and persimmon snacks. She looked back to him, smiling as much as she could. "Change your mind, Gin, and come back to me."

With more resolve than she recalled possessing, Rangiku turned and forced herself to move down the sidewalk, a dull ache already surging in her heart as she left him. She'd only taken a few steps when she looked over her shoulder to see him standing immobile, a look of confusion and longing replacing his typical smile.

He raised his hand in a half-hearted wave, and she nearly turned back to him. Instead she returned the gesture, attempting a smile, and moved on, hoping against hope for the day he'd fully return to her on more final terms.

* * *

**_-Suggested Pairings Accepted-_**

**Poll is up!**


	24. Circle of Corruption

Rangiku and Momo ran through the blustery Seireitei street to catch up with Nanao as the sky overhead threatened rain. Rangiku knew it was probably a futile request, but they asked almost every time. It had taken months to get Momo to attend her first meeting of what was largely known around Soul Society as the Reading Circle.

It was the informal reading group formed by a few of the lieutenants mostly, with 'members' consisting mainly of Rukia, Renji, Izuru, and Shuuhei, but lately Omaeda and Momo had ventured by.

Nanao took one look at the stack of papers in Rangiku's arms and the smaller bundle in Momo's, and knew immediately where they were heading.

"Join us," Rangiku said with a smile. "Come on, Nanao. You'll have fun."

"No, thank you," the shorter woman said, clutching her own legitimate paperwork closer to herself as a gust of cooler air swirled through the street. "I haven't anything to share, and I --"

"I've got some of your stories right here. See?" Rangiku held up an inch thick sheath of papers.

Nanao's eyes grew wide in horror. "Don't take our stories!" She snatched the stack of papers away from Rangiku.

Momo squealed despite the topic. "Our? Who's '_our'_, Nanao?"

Nanao frowned at her. "What are you doing taking _my_ stuff to that circle of corruption?"

Rangiku smiled mischievously as Momo giggled timidly, holding her own papers closer. "You and Shunsui have some of the best fan fiction, Nanao. Come on and give us your reviews on it." She reached for the papers Nanao had wrapped her arms tightly about. "Come on. It'll be fun."

Nanao shook her head, feeling her cheeks heat. "You shouldn't be reading other people's fan fiction."

Momo looked down at the slight stack of papers in her arms, feeling a little guilty suddenly. "I suppose you're right."

"Don't be silly," Rangiku said with a nod. Another thought occurred to her. "Oh, Nanao, can I change one of my answers on my application?"

Nanao frowned. "Sure. Was there a problem with your last match?"

Rangiku shrugged. "I realize putting fair-haired and mysterious for traits desired is kind of general," she said with a short laugh. "First I end up with my own Captain, and then with ..." She shrugged. "Another mysterious fair-haired match. I'm changing things up a bit."

"Sure," Nanao said.

A light sprinkle of rain started overhead, making them walk more quickly.

"Come by and change your application or get a new one, Rangiku," Nanao added as they neared the split to Eighth Division and another main branch of street.

"Oh, don't forget we're working on our embroidery at my place tomorrow evening," Momo said as she and Rangiku parted ways from Nanao.

"Not tomorrow. That's Thursday," Rangiku said to Momo in a lower tone, shooting Nanao a hopeful look.

"What's wrong with Thursdays?" Momo asked.

"How about Friday instead?" Nanao proposed, holding her papers closer to her chest as the rain fell heavier. "I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on tomorrow."

"Okay, Friday then," Momo said, darting off in the other direction as Rangiku continued on.

By the time they got to the Soul Society Canteen Momo and Rangiku were slightly damp from rain, their papers edged with water. And by the time they settled at the usual table they met at for the weekly literary circles the other members had parted out their own stacks of stories and burnt through a bottle of saké. Only Rukia had abstained.

She sat between Renji and Shuuhei, who sat by Izuru. Rangiku took a seat beside him and Momo claimed the final chair to Renji's other side. The upper echelon dining room was nearly empty, without a captain in sight.

"It's about time," Shuuhei said as the newcomers put their stacks of papers on the table. He waved to their server and indicated two more bottles of saké. "What took so long?"

Momo looked shyly at the stack of papers before Rangiku and then to her own smaller stack. She'd been warned about attending the informal meetings, that while most of the material passed around was of the 'T' rating variety, there were sometimes more mature themes. So far it had been embarrassing mostly because her fan fiction was one-shot stuff, not because she was paired-up with too many questionable characters. That category seemed to fall to others not part of the reading circle.

"First things first," Shuuhei said as the server set two bottles of saké on the table and a few more cups. "Thanks," he told her as she left. He looked at the piles of papers before each of the six shinigami. "We'll separate by amount first and then the other factors."

Izuru groaned, sorting the papers before him. "Factors? You mean slash."

Rangiku was happily sorting the large stack before her.

Rukia frowned at the small stack of her own. "Why am I losing in popularity? I used to always have a seat on the couch!" She made two piles, and then broke it further down to three.

Renji nudged her with an elbow. "If you stopped boycotting the Renji-and-Rukia-Forever fan club you'd have a lot more material. I think they're on to something there, Rukia."

She shot him a look and continued sorting. "You've got a rather small stack yourself, Renji."

"Ooh, small stack Renji," Izuru said with a chuckle.

Renji glared at him. "I'd have more if I included all the yaoi." He reddened and sent Shuuhei a pointed look. "What's up with that lately? Damn, it's _everyone_. I never know who's coming through the door next. Is everyone writing this stuff on a ByaRen or RenShuu kick lately?"

"Or IchiRen, or Dark --" Izuru began.

"I get the point," Renji snapped.

Izuru frowned over his sorted piles. "You've got that much without yaoi?"

Renji grinned suddenly, sitting back in his chair and resting his arm across the back of Rukia's. "Yup. I'd have ..." He frowned and decided to change his next brag. "Considerably more if I brought it all."

Izuru scowled at his piles of papers and poured himself more saké. "I can sadly say I think every male shinigami has been represented with me this time."

"They're all ... male?" Momo asked hesitantly, her eyes on the stack, fingers crossed on the pile before her.

"No, you're in here, too. A few times," he added, downing his saké.

"Just a few?" She frowned at the stack and reached to the pot of tea in the center of the table. "I came in second to _men_?"

"It could be worse," Renji and Shuuhei said in unison, then gave each other a threatening look.

"At least none of you are set up with your brother," Rukia grumbled, taking a drink of Renji's saké, making a face at it as he chuckled.

"No Omaeda this week?" Rangiku asked, spacing her five piles before her.

"Nothing new for him," Shuuhei said, topping off his cup from the bottle before all eyes went to Izuru. "Unless you've got something with him it in."

Izuru nearly sputtered his drink across the table, giving the other guy a sharp look. "I do _not_!"

"Okay, let' see who's got the most first and we'll go from there." Shuuhei leaned on his elbows, grinning around the table at Rukia and Izuru's sour looks and Momo's bashful blush. Everyone looked to Rangiku. Shuuhei sighed. "Rangiku?"

"Forty-eight," she said with a smile, pouring herself a congratulatory cup of saké.

"Forty-eight?" Renji echoed, the words blowing by Rukia's ear as she gave him a dark look. "From last week alone?"

Rangiku smiled, pushing the papers in two stacks together. "Yup. Twenty-eight from fair-haired men, thirteen from dark-haired, six assorted, and one bald."

Renji swore. "Any red-heads in that assorted?"

"Nope. Hmm, wonder why," she mused, fingering through one of the stacks.

"Hmph," he said, watching Rukia sort her piles of papers.

"Okay, forty-eight. What else?" Shuuhei asked.

Rukia held up a hand. "Thirty-two."

Shuuhei looked around. "Can anybody beat thirty-two?"

Everyone shook their heads, and Shuuhei wrote the number on a tablet beside her name below Rangiku's tally. "Who's next?"

A moment of silent wondering.

He grinned, writing down his own name above Rangiku's on the notepad. Izuru looked on, then pointed to him.

"You beat Rangiku? Fifty-one?"

Rangiku frowned and leaned across Izuru closer to Shuuhei on the other side of him, smothering the Third Division lieutenant's stack of papers with her chest before he could get out of the way. "You got fifty-one, Shuuhei?"

He grinned wider, partly because Izuru was trying to pull the top few pages out from under her without success. "Hey, I'm hot stuff this week. Looking good in the anime episodes. All pumped up and ready to go. All buff and tragic, too."

She rolled her eyes and sat back in her own seat. "You have been looking rather tough lately," she decided, reaching for the open bottle of saké and emptying it between every empty cup on the table. "Does that include the yaoi?"

Part of his grin dropped. "No."

"Ha!" Renji crowed, then cleared his throat as Rukia shook her head.

"Okay," Shuuhei said, looking back to the notepad. "Who's next?"

"Eighteen," Izuru said, scowling. "Total."

"Twenty-six," Renji said.

Momo shifted uncomfortably as everyone looked to her. "Ten."

"Only ten?" Izuru said in disbelief. "After all you've been through?"

"I'm not very popular with the fans right now." She frowned. "I'm going through a character development crisis." She drank from her tea cup before realizing it was saké, and then finished it anyway. "At least it's all hetero."

Izuru looked across the table to her nervous fingers on the dozen pages. "Awfully thin, Momo. Any character death?"

She frowned, and wadded up the top page and threw it at him. "Take out your yaoi and you'd have nothing left, Izuru."

Shuuhei looked to her cup. "No more saké for her."

She tossed him a pout.

He smiled and looked down at the stack of papers before him. "Okay, we know it's between me and Momo to see who pays for drinks. Now, let's determine who wins best overall."

Momo sighed. "Okay. Twenty-one," she said with a smile.

"Izuru only has eighteen pages, and you've got ten," Rangiku said. "The first page number has to be one everyone has.

Momo nodded. "Okay. Three."

Everyone dug out page three from their respective piles and set it in the middle of the table.

She frowned, and said, "Six."

Everyone dug out page six.

Izuru was unfolding the wadded page Momo had thrown at him when she sprung halfway across the table and snatched it from him.

"You can't read that!" She retrieved the page, straightening it and burying it beneath her few pages.

Izuru shrugged. "You gave it to me."

"Okay, okay," Shuuhei said as Renji pulled the cork from the next bottle of saké. "I say pages twenty-four and thirty."

He, Rukia, Rangiku, and Renji found the corresponding papers from their individual stacks and set them in the center of the table. He watched as Momo poured herself a cup of saké. "Okay, we pass to the left, and no commenting until we've all had a chance to read each entry."

Nods all around.

"Ladies first." Shuuhei had barely gotten the words out of his mouth than three hands bolted for a page in the center of the table.

For all of two minutes the table occupants were quiet, the only sounds coming from the rain now coming down in cascades along the Canteen roof and a few giggles from Rukia, which made Renji throw her a sharp look.

Momo was first to break the comment rule. Not so much break, as the sudden gag reflex that caught her unexpectedly. She put a hand over her mouth, shooting Izuru a look of disgust, and choked loudly to the side of the table.

Izuru groaned as Rangiku giggled.

Shuuhei broke his own rule. "Ha! That's you, Abarai," he said, reading from the page in his hands. "_'Red fern with racing stripes_.'"

Renji glared back at him, hands clutching his own papers. "Hey, that's taken out of context!"

Shuuhei sat back in his chair, passing the page to Izuru, and taking the next one Rukia handed him, her eyes on Rangiku as she giggled.

Shuuhei looked to the smaller woman, and then searched down the page, finally looking up at Rangiku across the table. "'A _silly, busty slack-off who had problems achieving bankai..._'" He grinned as Rangiku looked to him. "Do you?"

"No, give me that." Rangiku was on her feet and swiping the page from him.

"Hey, I wasn't done yet," he said as she dropped another page in front of him.

His eyes skimmed the page until he got to Izuru's name. He handed the page left, feeling slightly nauseated.

It took only a few moments for the pages to make the rounds, each of them grinning at complimentary passages, reddening at the less flattering, paling at the disturbing. By the time the fifth bottle of saké had dribbled empty into Izuru's cup, they were in the same mindset as they were every week at the end of the meetings.

Except this time Shuuhei was watching Rangiku reorganize her piles into color coded stacks instead of most favored. "Well," he said as she straightened the pile before her, "who gets it for best entry?"

Izuru shook his head, bowing out as he usually did every week. "I got nothing."

Momo sighed. "At least Shiro gets Karin. I get Hanatarou?" She looked to Rangiku. "It's a good thing you change your application to dark-haired men. You'll have more of a choice."

Shuuhei's attention picked up as he looked to Rangiku. "You're not talking about the fan fictions?"

"She's going for dark-haired men now," Momo said, words tipping a little as she spoke.

Rangiku's eyes fell to the smaller woman's cup. "You don't do well with saké, Momo. Stop spilling my beans."

Renji looked to Rukia, swallowing down his distaste. "Well? Let's hear it. You and that half-Hollow half-breed. Which of your strawberry stories did you like best this week?"

"They're all so good," she said, eyes tearing just a little.

He groaned and looked to Shuuhei. "Hers are the same every week."

"I vote for the page with '_better than saké at midnight_,'" Shuuhei said, grinning at Rangiku.

She smiled back, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah, that was a good..." she glanced at Momo and rephrased her wording, "scene. Precise, intense, and not suffering from the lack of duration."

Shuuhei frowned. "What do you mean, lack of _duration_?" He shot a look at Renji, who was snickering. "It was only one page of a story. It went on longer than a page. A _lot_ longer."

She shrugged, raising the cup of saké to her lips. "I'll have to take your word on that," she said, smiling at his scowl.

He stared at her for a moment, and then looked back down at the mess of papers lying all over the table. "Okay, it's between me and Momo who pays the tab this week."

Momo was staring morosely at the pages as the others began finding their own. Only Rangiku already had _that_ paperwork under control. "Rock, Paper, Scissors?" she suggested. "I don't want to arm wrestle, Shuuhei."

"I got the tab," he said, sighing as they each collected their papers. "I think next week I'll write something fan fiction about Omaeda myself so he's back in the mix and he can pick up the tab."

* * *

**_-Suggested Pairings Accepted-_**

**_Poll is up!_**


	25. Friday Morning

Shunsui was at the Eighth Division offices earlier than normal that Friday morning, which meant before noon, but this time he knew he was earlier than his lieutenant expected, too.

Nanao was nowhere to be seen.

He knew she'd been in already, his haori draped on his desk chair evidence of that, but there was no sign of his petite assistant. He donned the coat, and then the devious vein in him surfaced, and he cautiously stepped into Nanao's small office that preceded his down the hall and went to the desk.

It was orderly and neat, as his lieutenant was aught to be, the few papers on it pertaining to the day's work, and the small stack of paperwork held by a paperweight -- a sandalwood sphere sanded smooth so the grains of wood were highlighted -- precisely centered.

He glanced at the door, and opened the single drawer of the desk. Inside were a stack of papers, a few pens, spare bottles of ink, and...

He picked up the stack of papers and looked closer at them. His eyes dropped over the first page for a long moment, a grin broadening on his roughly shaven face as he shifted through the stories, surprised by a few, amused by a few more.

"Captain Kyouraku!" Nanao shrieked as she stepped through the open doorway.

The papers ruffled in Shunsui's hands as he started at her voice, enjoying the quick flush that rose over her cheeks.

She crossed the room and lunged for the papers, but he held them just out of her reach, smiling as she tried, her arms extended fully to his, her robe against his as alarm claimed her usually demure face.

"Please give them to me, Captain," she said, standing on tiptoe, fingers trying to close around the bottom edges of papers. She realized she was leaning against him, and eased away, straightening her glasses and fighting -- and losing -- to the blush. "Please?"

"Fan fiction, Nanao?"

"They're not mine," she said, watching him grin.

"Oh, but they are. Yours and mine. Ours," he emphasized.

"Yes, but they're not _mine_." Her hand rested at the fan at her sash, half-tempted to swat him into cooperation, but she knew he'd take whatever abuse she gave him and wait for more. "I'm not reading them."

He lowered the papers and thumbed through them, glancing briefly at the pages as he handed them to her singly. "Good. Good. Not so good. Ooh, one of my favorites," he said as she snatched the page he handed her. "Okay, but underdeveloped. Okay, but over-written. Okay, but --"

"Captain!" She made a desperate grab for the rest of the stack, but he retained a few sheets. "I didn't read them and I don't plan to."

He looked from her fuming features to the pages in his hands. He frowned, holding up a page in genuine surprise. "Your application, Nanao?"

She pursed her lips for a moment, eyes remaining on the form, and then nodded slowly. "You said we each had to fill out two for the Women's Association."

He frowned at it, glancing over the questions and answers before sorting quickly through the other papers he held. "Only one?"

She sighed, wishing she could answer differently. "The first didn't turn out right, so I threw it away."

He nodded slowly, still looking through the other pages. "You didn't submit this one."

She held the fan fiction papers closer to her chest, watching him sift through the ones still in his hands. "It's not finished."

He stopped flitting through the papers and looked almost sharply at her, holding one up. "This has your handwriting and Juushirou's, but my name on it."

Nanao opened her mouth but no words came out. For a long moment she could only stare back at him, his brown eyes almost sad on her, awaiting an answer. "I hadn't turned it in yet, Captain."

He nodded, putting his own application with hers on the other forms. "My oldest comrade and my lieutenant looking out for me? What more could a man want?"

She waited for him to give her the applications, but he only handed back the fan fiction papers. "Captain, I haven't finished mine yet," she said as he smiled and stepped away from the desk. "I still need to --"

"Oh, I think you have enough on it, Nanao," he said, rounding her desk with her following. "I think I can work with what's there."

"But I'm not ready to ... It isn't finished," she said as they left her office and headed down the hallway. She hurried to keep up with his brisk swagger. "I need to fix a few parts."

"No, I think it's good as it is." He stopped before the day room door and slid open the screen, ushering her in.

The room stretched warm before them, the widest of the rooms in the building, facing south to the back of the Division, a long porch running the width of it out the doors, which Nanao opened every morning except in rain. The view of the valley beyond was speckled with cherry blossom trees, the flowers past their bloom and budding to set fruit later in the season. Nanao had always liked the view, more so than she let her Captain know, seeing as his nearly daily compliments of the landscape were enough for both of them. Center of the room was a low table with cushions at either side, a pot of tea cool from her preparations earlier that day. Beside it were two tea cups, hers rarely used, but always present, according to his instructions.

Nanao looked to it, sighing, her sense of duty overriding her sense of self. "I'll make fresh, Captain." She moved to take the tea pot, but Shunsui put a halting hand to her elbow.

"Tepid tea is fine, Nanao. Sit with me."

She looked to the table and tea service, and then back up at him, feeling her pulse quicken at his hand on her sleeve. "I really should --"

"As your captain, I require you to drink aged tea with me, Nanao," he said with mock seriousness.

She sighed, admitting a small smile. "Yes, Captain Kyouraku."

He dropped to one of the cushions already warm from the sun's rays drifting in through the open door, watching as she knelt across the table from him on another cushion, the stack of papers she'd clutched so tightly on the floor beside her. He set the two folded applications on the table near the serving tray, watching Nanao's eyes rest on them momentarily. Outside on the porch rail was a small finch, its yellow body bright against the greens of the valley landscape behind it.

"Your monthly report to the Gotei Thirteen is due tomorrow," she said pouring a cup of tea and placing it before him. "You have --"

"It can wait," he said, taking the cup, sighing. "I've made two more matches, and I want your opinion on them, sweet Nanao."

She gave him a pointed look that lost most of its edge when he grinned at her. "But Division matters are pressing, Captain. You've put off the report for a week now."

He took a drink of the cool tea and nodded. "Now I will put it off for another day. I didn't know you practiced bunka shishu," he said, watching her look quickly to him.

"You weren't supposed to read my application. I haven't turned it in yet," she said, frowning at his lazy smile, her eyes drifting to the folded applications. "I don't do bunka shishu." She poured herself a cup of tea. "Vice-Captain Hinamori does."

"Oh? So what does Nanao do?"

She needlessly arranged the tea pot, taking a brief sip of the tea that had gotten too strong while sitting. "Blackwork embroidery. It's a very popular needlework in the Living World, and it's very simple," she added almost reluctantly. "I suppose it would be considered boring next to floss embroidery."

"I'm sure it's not so boring," he said, watching her hands center the tea pot and needlessly straighten the bamboo mat beneath it. "I'd like to see your work."

Nanao caught a small breath, her nerves flipping for unnamed reasons. "Oh, it's just black, Captain. It only uses black threads, and not the full, soft floss like embroidery. It makes definite designs, but they're not very colorful."

He smiled, set down his empty tea cup and leaned back to where his tatami was still rolled, unusual for the hour of day that he generally spent napping. He pulled the pale peach neck roll pillow to the table, watching her nearly recoil at seeing it. "Like this pattern?"

Nanao didn't need to examine the delicate black design in thin silk threads to know her own work. The intricate floral motif that wound stem-like leaves and small unopened flower buds in a curvilinear pattern across the pale peach material had taken hours to complete. She nodded, a surreal feeling passing over her. "Yes."

"Your work?"

She nodded, sighing and calming her hands as she reached to pour more tea. "You acted like you didn't know I stitched, Captain."

"I didn't until I saw your application, and..." He paused, watching as she looked up from handing him the cup of tea, "that's when I recalled I'd seen a pattern very much like this before." He set the pillow roll to his side, eyes on hers. "I recalled there were pillows on your couch, Nanao, with the same design."

"But you were ... The lighting was so poor," she said, stumbling over the words as her hands sank into her lap beneath the table. "I didn't think you took notice of the pillows."

He nodded slowly, eyes following hers as her attention dropped to her hands. "I thought I hadn't either, but I had a lot on my mind that night, and when I saw on your application this morning that you did needlework, I began to think about some things."

She raised her gaze to his. "It was a gift."

"But you never told me made it with your own hands, Nanao," he said, watching her hands as they rested tentatively at the edge of the table. "Your very own fingers. That makes it all the more valuable."

Nanao could feel the warmth of the room begin to seep in on her, and she couldn't blame it all on the sun reaching its apex outside over the valley. She looked back down at the table. "Thank you, Shunsui."

He smiled, wishing she'd look up at him, seeing the slight tremble at her lips as her gaze remained on her fingers holding each other on the table. "And then I remembered something else," he said. Her eyes shot to the hem of his haori near his arm, as he'd expected, but her lashes hid the directness of her gaze. He crossed an arm with the hem of her attention before him on the table, resting it so both of them saw the detail of the large deep pink flowers detailed in burgundy.

Except one, and Nanao knew which one it was. She leaned over the table more as her eyes went to the flower whose edges were less red, the raised pattern of the embroidered flower motif slightly askew as the shorter profile of the thin black threads of twisted silk didn't quite match the others.

"It occurred to me that this flower is different, and recently so," he said, his finger brushing over the motif in question, her eyes watching the movement. "It's been filled in with a different color, barely discernable, but not like the others. Black, not merely dark red. Have you noticed it, too, sweet Nanao?"

She nodded, closing her eyes briefly before looking to him. "I didn't think you'd notice, Captain. It was starting to come loose. A few strands of thread were broken and hanging, and it only would have led to more strands breaking, and I didn't want the flower to unravel," she said quickly, trying to slow her rush of words. "I wasn't going to leave it black; I didn't have any thread or floss that would match perfectly, and I was afraid the design would unravel and disappear in the next laundering, so I used the black." She sat back, watching his gentle features soften even more on her. "I didn't want to lose the design. I'll stitch it correctly as soon as I can find the matching thread. I promise --"

He reached across the table and took her fingers as she tried to pull her hand back to her lap. "Sweet, sweet Nanao, such a considerate lieutenant. How lucky I am to have you. No other lieutenant would mend the flowers on her captain's coat with --"

She snatched her hand away and scowled at him, face heating to a cherry-like blush as her mood shifted abruptly. "No other captain has _flowers_ on his coat, Captain."

"Aye, but if they did," he said wagging a finger at her, "would they be mended? I hardly think Omaeda would attempt to --"

"Ugh!" Her eyes shot to his, this time with the familiar sharpness he recalled from most of their conversations. "This is getting ridiculous, Captain." She set the tea pot and her cup on the tray and stood up. "I'll bring you fresh tea."

"Nanao," he said slowly as she made her way to the door, "come back. You have to advise me our matches."

She slid the rice paper panel with one hand. "I'll bring your tea."

"Nanao..."

"It was just a little needlework, Captain," she said, not turning around as she stepped through the doorway.

"But the thought behind it, sweet Nanao," he said hopefully as she leveled a quasi-irritated scowl on him. "That counts."

She paused, eyes on the tea pot and lone cup on the tray.

"Is that what keeps you from the Canteen on Thursday nights, Nanao?"

She frowned. "I don't do needlework on only one day or night of the week, Captain," she said, wondering at his drifting thoughts.

For a moment she considered his pensive expression as he sat at the table, confusing sifting through her. She shook her head. "I'll bring your tea," she said, and disappeared down the hall.

He sighed, gave a furtive glance at the door, and then reached across the table for the stack of papers beside the cushion.

"Don't touch those!" her voice called back.

Shunsui flinched guiltily before settling to his side of the table, leaning an elbow on it and slouching beside it. After a few seconds he looked to the folded applications, and then down to his haori, picking at a red flower stitched on the hem.

"And don't be unraveling any more flowers!" her voice broke back to him from down the hall.

He sighed and leaned his head in his palm, looking to the yellow finch that was sitting on the wooden rail outside on the porch, watching him. "And we were doing so well for a few moments, little bird."

* * *

**Next Match: Beyond Duty**

**_Poll is up!_**


	26. Beyond Duty

The sixth floor of the warehouse the Vizards called home was as comfortable as they needed to make it. The back section of loft serving as the women's dorm was sectioned off from the men's sleeping quarters by a solid wall, and a double layer of curtains across the doorway that was supposed to assist in privacy was usually enough, but it didn't keep Kensei from making impromptu visits when he felt like it. One of those times was now, when he'd gotten wind from Rose that Mashiro was prepping for a date.

This he had to see. Not only that he needed proof she was indeed getting prissified, but he wanted details.

He wiped the double curtain away from the doorway as he passed through the large and nominally decorated dorm room, receiving a sharp glower from Lisa sitting in the open window sill reading a book.

"You're supposed to knock first, Kensei," came her automatic response to his inburst.

"What's this about a date for Mashiro?" he demanded, looking around the room at the two twin beds and bunk bed that housed Hiyori in the top, the lower empty. He took a sniff, recognizing Mashiro's kiwi-scented shampoo, and looked to the small bathroom at the end of the room.

"You can't go in there!" Lisa called after him as he crossed the room in a few long strides and looked into the doorless bathroom, swiping away the curtain draped there. No doors in the loft -- Hiyori's tendency to slam them had saw to that, and Shinji and Kensei's irritation at having to rehang them on busted hinges had reached an end.

"What's this about a date?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, Kensei had forgot about them. It'd been a long time since he'd seen her in a dress, and he found himself wondering if her legs had always been so long.

Mashiro's back was to him as she stood leaning against the sink attached to the wall, craning her neck to the too tall mirror above it as she touched mascara to her eyelashes, her vibrant green hair wavy around her face.

She focused on him in the mirror as he stood closer behind her, returning a frown for his scowl. "You can't be in here, Kensei. I'm getting glammed up."

He watched the wand wisp black to her curly lashes as she ignored him. Satisfied, she put the mascara back in its tube and rummaged around in a small cosmetic bag on the sink for a lipstick.

She edged away from him, the hem of the tutti-frutti pink dress hiking up a few inches as she leaned over the sink again and applied a pink tint to her lips. He noticed both.

"I see you shucked off that silly jumpsuit in favor of something ... else," he said as she made a test pucker in the mirror before sticking the lipstick back in the bag. She moved away to stand in front of the floor length mirror attached to one of the small room's walls, its edges chipped and black but otherwise a decent mirror. "What took you so long?"

"You think it's stylish enough?" she asked, oblivious to his question, turning her backside to the mirror and looking over her shoulder.

"Who're you getting all dolled-up for, Mashiro?"

She pouted at her reflection, a gloveless hand pulling at the back of her skirt, then smoothing it over her derrière. "I've got a date, Kensei."

He wasn't sure why the words made him bristle, but they did. "Who?"

She fluffed her hair with a few fingers, turning to smile disarmingly at him, her appearance calling up memories long buried of when she kept her hair fuller, wavier. "It's a mystery."

She looked back to the sink again, and this time he saw the slip of paper lying beneath the cosmetic bag on the basin edge. He snatched it as she reached for it.

"Kensei!"

He held it eyelevel to one side over her head as she pawed at the paper.

"That's mine! It has my name on it!"

His eyes moved across the coupon, rereading the few words on it. "That's what it takes to put you in a dress?" He chuckled without humor. "An invitation for a free dinner from some guy you never even met? What's wrong with you?"

She made a small jump on her platform shoes, hobbling a few times trying to grab the coupon he held out of reach. "It's mine! Give it back!"

"You're not going to dinner with some pervert lurking around," he said, watching a pout bunch her newly pinked lips.

"It's a legitimate matching service, Kensei," she said, holding her hand up to him, waiting, her tone changing to dulcet. "I've been matched with someone sharing my interests and fitting the description of what I'm looking for in a man."

For a moment he just stared back at her, finding the lack of whining in her tone almost grating to his ears for a few brief seconds. Almost gratingly melodious.

He handed back the coupon. She took it, smiling quickly, and then turned out the doorway to where Lisa was still watching what she could see of the exchange.

"It's not safe to go meeting strange men out in public," he said as she stopped at her bed where the blankets and pillow were shabbily made.

She reached beneath her pillow and found a small perfume atomizer. She removed the top and misted the floral scent at each side of her neck, and then held out the scoop collar of her dress to squirt a spray down her top.

He snatched the atomizer away. "Hey, you don't need to put any there."

"I want to smell good," she said, holding out her hand.

"You smell good enough; there's no reason to be perfuming _those_," he grumbled, tossing the bottle onto her bed. "I don't think you should go."

She put her hands on her hips, one platform shoe tapping as she stared up at him from her new height. "I want to go, and I'm going, Kensei. Geez, it's just dinner at the café a few blocks over."

Lisa watched with amusement, the book in her hands well-worn. "Look at it this way, Kensei, she won't be following you around for a few hours. It'll get her out of your hair and you won't have to deal with her for the afternoon."

He shot her a glare, and followed as Mashiro skipped out of the dorm room.

* * *

The late afternoon was warm and slightly breezy, ruffling the large blue and white umbrellas hanging over each white outdoor table on the small lawn just off the sidewalk at the Three Sisters Bistro at the edge of Karakura Town. Mashiro's steps slowed as she approached the emptier side of the small lawn, large eyes wandering over the few diners already there.

She glanced at her coupon, and then back up to the canopied tables.

"Seven is over there," Kensei said from beside her, pointing to the umbrella with small shiny '7s' decorating the wide blue triangles. "How cheesy. Are you sure you want to eat here with some nut-job that can't get his own dates?"

She frowned up at him, and began picking her way through the tables and chairs of other diners. "I didn't invite you, Kensei. No one did. If you don't like it, leave. He might be nice," she said, smiling as she reached her table. She frowned as he dropped into a chair at the table an arm's length away from Table Seven. "Don't sit so close."

Kensei yanked a chair out from her table and nodded at it. "Sit down."

She sighed and sat in the chair, scooting it away from him closer to her own table. "Pretend you don't know me."

"Not a problem," he grumbled, eyes narrowing as he watched the sidewalk traffic trickle by near the street.

Mashiro set her arms on the round white table's edge, looking hopefully at each of the few men milling among the tables. A tall dark haired man smiled at someone past her and made his way to another table. She sighed, and then brightened, sitting straighter as a shorter man with sun-blond hair approached her table.

But then he continued past to another table where a woman greeted him enthusiastically.

Kensei turned in his chair to see over her shoulder.

She glimpsed him out of the corner of her eye, her lipstick pouting. "Don't look at me. You'll scare him away."

He growled and turned back to his own table, cracking his knuckles. "So, what's this joker look like?"

"I don't know."

A waitress came up to her table, menus in hand, tossing a look between her and Kensei, and then smiled at Mashiro. "Hello. Can I get you something to drink?" she asked, placing a menu on the table.

"I'm waiting on someone," Mashiro said, smiling wider as the waitress set a second menu on the table. "I'd like a Cherry Coke meanwhile."

"One Cherry Coke it is," the waitress said.

"I'll take a beer," Kensei said.

The waitress looked to him with a slight frown, but Mashiro responded before she could.

"We are not together," she informed pointedly.

The waitress nodded slowly. "Okay." She hesitantly handed Kensei a menu, which he snatched. She frowned more. "I'll be right back with those."

The waitress left, and Mashiro spun around in her chair, giving Kensei's arm a shove. "I am not here with you. Stop invading my date!"

"You don't have a date yet," he said, catching her hand as she attempted another assault, her hand disappearing in his larger one. "So what's he look like?"

She pulled her hand free and turned back to her own table, smoothing her rumpled skirt. "I don't know. Blond, tall, sense of humor."

"You can't see a sense of humor," he said, looking back to the sidewalk as a few couples strolled by.

She sighed behind him, stretching her legs to one side. "You can see when someone doesn't have one. I know that."

He glimpsed over his shoulder, her legs in his peripheral view. Gone were the clunky form-fitting boots, replaced by the cork wedge sandals with the gold and pink straps lacing halfway up her calves. He cracked another knuckle.

"Where'd you find this matching service, anyway?"

She shrugged, sending a waft of floral scent into the air. "Lisa had a few applications. Found them somewhere -- Ooh, I'll bet that's him now."

Kensei's attention shot to where a tall, well-built man was making his way through the tables, a stunning grin on his face as he neared Table Seven. Kensei sat up, every muscle -- well, nearly every muscle -- in his body tensing as the man came closer.

Then he passed Mashiro's table, making her sigh and pout as he did.

The waitress returned with their drinks, serving Mashiro first, and then, almost reluctantly, handing Kensei his beer before leaving. For a few moments there was no sound from either except for Mashiro slurping from her straw. It took ten minutes for her to finish, the straw sucking as much air as soft drink, noisily, a few low belches followed by her coughing a little, followed by the straw being jammed into each and every ice cube in turn, chasing them in a circle at the bottom of the tall glass. And then came the clinking of cubes as she rattled them.

Kensei grit his teeth, trying to remain silent despite her noise, resorting to downing his beer and waving to the waitress across the lawn for another. At first the woman pretended not to see his long arm windmilling at her, and then not to understand as he pointed to his beer and to Mashiro behind him. When he stood up and sent her a more pointed look, hair bumping the umbrella, the waitress held up both hands to him and nodded fervently. He sat down.

Mashiro hiccupped, squirming on her chair, the back nudging into Kensei's.

"It's been twenty minutes," he said.

"Don't talk to me."

"If he's this late, forget him."

"Stop talking to me, Kensei." Her tone drooped just a little.

He sighed, and then a familiar voice made them both look to the edge of the cobble walk dividing the two sections of tables on the lawn.

" ... again, and we still haven't got anywhere," came Hiyori's unmistakable whine as she followed Shinji into the arrangement of canopied tables. "We aren't going anywhere, Shinji. What's the deal?"

Shinji had lost his grin somewhere a few blocks back as he and his pig-tailed companion had circled the café nestled among the stretch of eateries. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his shiny magenta pants, his lavender shirt in contrast with the pale yellow tie at his neck. One hand fidgeted in his pocket, and he pulled it out just enough to see the wording on a slip of paper as he looked to the numbered umbrellas over the tables.

Kensei watched the fellow ex-shinigami captain look to the splay of 7s on the umbrella shading Mashiro, and his face took on an awkward look of surprise, which was replaced by a grimace of near pain.

"Aw, dammit," he muttered, staring at Mashiro, and then Kensei, who scowled threateningly at him. His hand came out empty from his pocket, and he sighed, making his way to Table Five near Mashiro's table.

"Here? Here?" Hiyori squeaked, her frustration peaking. "We walked around for half an hour to get _here_?"

"Stop your yapping," Shinji said. He gave Mashiro a small smile as he dropped into a chair at the table near hers. "Karakura's getting crowded."

She frowned at him. "What're you doing here?"

Kensei had turned to watch Shinji approach, leaning an arm on the back of his chair that took up part of Mashiro's also. "What _are_ you doing here, Shinji?"

Shinji looked between his roommates for a moment as Hiyori took a seat by him and made a lunge for one of the menus on Mashiro's table.

"That's for someone else," Mashiro snapped, catching the edge of the menu.

Hiyori didn't relinquish it. "Who? Him?" She jerked a thumb at Kensei, who was still staring at Shinji, awaiting an answer.

"No." Mashiro tugged on the menu.

Shinji sighed and pulled Hiyori's hand away. "Leave it be."

"I want to look at it," she grumbled. "Let's get something. I want onion rings. No, fries. No, rice balls and --"

"You're getting a soda," Shinji decided for her as the waitress came up to Mashiro's table with a tray.

She set another Cherry Coke before Mashiro and handed a beer to Kensei, who took it before it could reach his table.

"When you're done there, we'll take two rootbeers," Shinji told her.

She nodded, looking between the three tables. "Would anyone care to order?"

"I'm waiting on someone," Mashiro said, a little tiredly this time.

Kensei held up his beer and nodded.

Shinji clapped a hand over Hiyori's mouth as she took a deep breath to rattle off her list of desires.

"Okay, I'll be right back with the rootbeers and another beer." The waitress left.

Hiyori tore Shinji's hand off her mouth. "I wanted to get something!"

"I'll get you something later." Shinji looked to Mashiro as her attention went back to the few people taking seats at the other canopied tables. He looked to Kensei, shook his head, and then glanced back at the green-haired girl. "What're you all dressed up for?"

She perked a smile at him. "I have a date."

Kensei rolled his eyes. Shinji's face dropped a little further.

Hiyori chortled, slapping the table. "Someone wants a date with you? With _you_?"

"Settle down," Shinji said, sitting back in his chair and smoothing a hand over the tie at his chest.

The waitress returned with their round of beverages, and Shinji sent her away again before Hiyori got the chance to place an order.

"Hmph," Hiyori grumped, making a face at his choice of attire. "You look like a pimp, Shinji."

"No, I don't. I look sharp." He frowned at the tie. "You think it don't match?"

"I know it don't."

"You could've said something earlier," he told her.

"I did." She leaned both arms on the table and planted her cheeks in her palms. "You didn't listen."

Kensei finished his beer, listening to Mashiro slurping her soda, hearing Hiyori's scratching banter, but his eyes were on Shinji at Table Five.

Who returned his attention. For a few long moments no one said anything of any importance, Hiyori gulping her soft drink quickly, burping loudly, using every square inch of the chair seat in an attempt to get comfortable. She finally kicked Shinji's chair.

"Sit quiet," he told her. "You got worms or something?"

She made a face and kicked his chair leg harder.

"That's it." He stood up quickly and yanked her out of her chair by an elbow. "Let's go."

She ripped her arm out of his grasp. "Where we going? I wanted to get --"

"I'll get you an ice cream down the block."

She stared at him as if he'd offered her the moon. "An ice cream?"

He scratched the back of his head, sighing, trying not to look at Mashiro's disappointed face or Kensei's sour one. "Yeah, a double dipper. How about that?"

"Okay!"

Hiyori finished her rootbeer in a swallow and jumped away from her chair, throwing a wave at Mashiro and Kensei.

"Think they'll have spumoni?" she asked as Shinji waved with a slight smile to Mashiro, who only absently returned it, eyes still on the sidewalk passersby.

"How can you eat that stuff? It's like digested slime," he said, nodding to Kensei as he followed the short hyper girl among the tables.

"No, it's not." She glanced up at him, wrinkling her face. "I like your hair better longer, but this is okay, too."

"Longer, eh? Hmm, you used to say it whipped you in the face in the wind."

"...It wasn't so bad. Hey, maybe the zoo is still open."

"We ain't going to the zoo, dammit."

"Why not?"

Kensei only half heard their fading conversation as they left, his eyes on Mashiro's wilted posture at her table, her fingers toying with the straw in her nearly finished Cherry Coke. He turned in his seat to face his own table, slumping against the back of his chair, more relieved than he cared to admit that her dinner _date_ was gone. A moment later he felt her chair lean to the back of his, the top of her hair at his shoulder. He looked to where a few wavy green locks rested at his arm, kiwi-scent still strong from her earlier grooming.

"This clown's not coming, Mashiro," he said gently. "Let's go."

"No. Go if you want, Kensei, but I'm staying."

"He's not coming, I tell you," he said, his tone irked.

"You don't know that."

He sighed. "It's been nearly an hour. He's not worth it."

She sniffed, sighing.

Kensei closed one large hand around the leg of her chair and lurched it over beside his, making her look at him, disappointment replacing the hopefulness in her eyes. "Any guy an hour late isn't worth it, Mashiro." He reached behind her and grabbed her glass from the other table and set it before her on his table.

She sighed, pouting at her drink, drawing up one knee to rest her foot against the chair seat edge, wrapping her arms around her leg as her skirt fell into her lap.

He watched the pink material slide down her leg and cleared his throat when she didn't notice. "You can't sit like that in a dress."

"What?" She looked up at him and then to the skirt. She dropped her knee and straightened her dress over her legs. "Why didn't he show up? Maybe you scared him off."

He shrugged, draping his arm across the back of her chair. "He still should've come by."

She sighed, letting her head rest against his arm behind her. "Yeah, he should've."

For a few moments they sat, watching the other tables.

She sat forward in the chair and finished her Cherry Coke, and Kensei found himself wondering about that small glimpse of skin he could see at the back of her neck between her hair and the scoop collar of her dress, wondering if it smelled like the floral perfume. Her hair shifted, and it took a moment for him to realize she'd turned in her chair, now staring back at him, her eyes smiling in a far less goofy way than usual.

He stood up. "Let's go. I'll buy you a pair of sunglasses."

She popped to her feet beside him. "Really, Kensei?"

"Yup." He drained the last of his beer and watched her put her glass to her lips, raise it and suck up a mouthful of ice cubes, crunching noisily.

"With rhinestones?" she asked, voice muffled.

"That's gaudy." He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and dropped a few bills on the table.

"I like them. They make my eyes sparkle."

"You don't need rhinestones." He followed her out of the maze of tables.

"I like rhinestones."

He shrugged. "Sure."

She put a skip in her step to match his longer strides on the sidewalk. "I love you, Kensei."

He nodded. "I know."

* * *

**_-Pairings Suggestions Accepted-_**

**_Poll is up!_**


	27. House Call

If it hadn't been for those few words of suggested urging from Yoruichi that evening over dinner at the Broken Yen followed by a shopping trip of more hinting, Soi Fon never would have found herself standing outside the gates to the Ukitake family estate.

One thing had led to another that evening after her failed date with Kisuke Urahara, and as Yoruichi pointed out Juushirou's kind nature, easy smile, hair that ranked in the top five of male shinigami, and several other attributes, Soi Fon had warmed to the subject.

Not exactly warmed, she thought, her eyes moving over the perimeter of the wrought iron bars of the garden wall, but with a less detached view of the man. While she didn't see a kind nature as having much to do with being a good captain, it was exactly that approachability that made it possible for her to stand outside the walled estate now.

She stood with the small package in her hand, a sage green linen satchel tied with coarse string of red, with an even coarser bow. She'd never practiced the leisure art of bow-making; Soi Fon made knots, and this knot was anything but decorative.

"Who's there?" a set of voices demanded, one female, one a deep male.

Soi Fon's posture stiffened, at the ready despite the serene willow and sugar gum trees dotting the yard beyond the gates. Her eyes narrowed on Kiyone Kotetsu and Sentarou Kotsubaki farther in the large yard as they stepped out from separate trees to either side of the footpath leading to the gates.

"Captain Soi Fon?" Kiyone said with genuine surprise, and then bowed quickly, elbowing Sentarou beside her, who was even more shocked at the petite captain's appearance.

He bowed deeply. "Captain Soi Fon."

Soi Fon's fingers tightened on the small satchel, the urge to flee outweighing her resolve to stay. She choked down the cowardice. "I've come to see Captain Ukitake. If he's well enough."

"Oh, yes, Captain," they said in unison.

Kiyone was the first to get to the gate. She lifted the latch and pulled it open with a small creak of the hinges. "Please, come in, Captain Soi Fon."

Not to be outdone, Sentarou was at the other gate, heaving open that side faster despite the uselessness of opening both. "Welcome."

Soi Fon stepped through the gates, casting each a brief scowl at their competitiveness, and also envying just a little their desire to please their captain. Her eyes remained on Kiyone as she passed the woman, and while regrets of a few things in their common past went through Soi Fon's mind, it was her appearance that she noticed most. Gone was the high collar beneath her uniform, her hair a bit more brushed.

"Well, well," Juushirou's voice greeted as he approached from farther down the walkway. "This is a surprise."

Soi Fon's attention snapped from Kiyone to the white-haired captain nearing her. "Captain Ukitake."

"Captain Soi Fon, I hope all is well in Seireitei," he said leadingly, his smile unsteady as she looked to him.

"Yes, there are no pressing Soul Society matters," she said deliberately, fingers nervous on the satchel, much more comfortable with an edged weapon than the dainty item.

He smiled wider, nodding. He looked to his officers. "Thank you for seeing Captain Soi Fon in, Kiyone, Sentarou. You are dismissed."

"Yes, Captain," they returned, closing the gate before taking their leave.

Ukitake's smile remained warm as he returned Soi Fon's uneasy attention. "Welcome, Captain. A pleasant surprise to see you."

All the small talk Soi Fon had prepared -- all scant dozen words of it -- failed her. She looked down at the satchel and back up to him. "How, how are you? Captain."

He nodded, turning on the walk, a slight wave of his hand to her. "Well. Yourself?"

She nodded, unmoving.

For a fleeting moment he only watched her remain petrified in the late afternoon sunlight filtered by the board willow overhead. "Please come in, Captain."

She took a few steps until aligned with him, in step as they passed among the shadows, his gait slowing to match hers.

"I don't think you've been here before."

"No, I haven't." She looked to the sloping lawn of ornamental trees that lent fragrance to the air, reminiscent of the small orchard outside the Shihôin palace Soi Fon remembered from her youth. In the distance she saw a pair of peacocks walking among the flowering shrubs, one plain and brown, the other with folded colorful tail in tow. Farther back a large house rambled in every direction, a wooden porch running around the entire exterior. "If you're not well enough for --"

"Oh, I am," he said with a nod, watching her lowered eyes remain on the object in her hand. "I've been healthy lately. I'm here for family reasons currently." He nodded to where a small pond broke the lawn to their left, half shrouded in ferny plants. A young woman just past girlhood sat on a wooden bench, her hands holding something Soi Fon couldn't determine.

Soi Fon looked up to Juushirou suddenly. It hadn't occurred to her he had family. She knew he had siblings, but family? As in _wife_?

"You're busy," she said curtly, halting their progress, eyes narrowing on the young woman as something lethally feminine in her spiked, something Soi Fon hadn't felt before. "I should have sent a messenger ahead."

He grinned, watching her eyes go to the girl. "My niece. Recovering from surrendering her heart too easily to a man newly engaged to another woman. This infatuation was all in my niece's own mind; he never promised her anything, and from what I hear, rarely spoke to her," he added, sighing, watching the girl as her gaze went out to the single swan gliding gracefully in the pond waters. "But she's young, and she thinks it's the end of her world. She likes to watch the swan that's lost its mate, sharing its grief, likening herself to it. Both of them tragic."

Soi Fon sighed as the girl tossed pieces of rice cake into the water for the majestic bird. "Your niece."

He chuckled, nodding as they resumed walking. "Must seem silly to you, the affairs of a girl's tender heart to a man she barely knows."

"It was all her imagination?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at the girl who sat forlorn on the bench, sighing exaggeratedly.

Juushirou nodded. "If he had known of her interest, it wouldn't have mattered anyway," he said, his tone devoid of callousness. "My sister is widowed, my niece without a father. This young man's family would never have considered her a match for him." He grinned at her as she looked up to him, and then away. "Speaking of matches, has Shunsui tried to pair you up?"

Soi Fon frowned intently, lips pursing.

"If you'd rather not answer, I understand," he said. "Not my business. Just making casual conversation, Captain."

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Please call me Soi Fon."

He smiled. "Thank you, Soi Fon. And you'll call me Juushirou, I hope."

A slight smile edged to her lips. "Yes, Captain Kyouraku has, in fact. Not a very successful one, I must say. One of the earliest misfires."

"Oh? It can't be worse than what he did to Renji Abarai."

Soi Fon found herself giggling just a little, recalling what she'd overheard Omaeda relaying to another officer about the match. "No, not quite." She toyed with the blunt bow of the satchel, realizing she still held it. She offered it to him, stopping in her tracks. "I brought this for you, Juushirou."

He smiled warmly. "Thank you. Very thoughtful, Soi Fon." He took it, and spent a moment untying her industrial strength bow. Inside was a cork-stopped glass jar. He lifted the cork, smelling the contents, smiling wider at her. "Lemongrass tea and ... something else. I'm unsure what. Oh, it's --"

"Schisandra," she said even as he did. She smiled more, feeling warm despite the cool of the shade of the trees.

He nodded, enjoying the tint of blush that bloomed over her cheeks. "That's very thoughtful, Soi Fon. Thank you."

Before she could say anything, a house servant hurried up, bowing deeply before them. "Dinner is nearly ready to serve, Captain."

"Good. Set another place for Captain Soi Fon," Juushirou said.

Soi Fon's defenses leapt back into place. "Not for me, Captain. I'll be leaving."

The servant looked between the captains as Juushirou turned to Soi Fon. "We'd be honored to have you at our table, Captain. It's just my sisters, a few nieces, and I tonight." He waved to the servant. "Set a place anyway."

"Yes, Captain."

Soi Fon watched the servant rush back to the sprawling house a few acres across the grassy yard as early evening crept across it. "Thank you, Juushirou, but I can't stay."

He cocked his head to one side, watching the consideration slip across her eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I just ... just wanted to bring the tea," she said, the words seeming to sound even weaker aloud. "I've left my vice-captain too long in charge already."

He nodded, falling into step with her as she turned hesitantly back down the walkway. "Vice-Captain Omaeda seems a capable man."

Soi Fon was already growling before she realized it. "He is not, Juushirou. I assure you."

He shrugged, sighing. "I suppose a firm hand is needed for a Division such as yours." When she looked to him quickly, he said carefully, "Second is a very exacting squad, not like many of the others. Discipline is necessary for your specialization. I admire your abilities to separate duty from more personal inclinations. I don't think I could maintain a squad like that."

She watched him as he said it, without the disdain she usually heard when anyone referred to how she ran her Division. "Laxness would only make my men soft and ill-prepared for their responsibilities. I don't want to know them any more personally than I need to."

He nodded, eyes on the gates at the end of the walkway in the distance. "That detachment ensures your order, Soi Fon." They walked for a few moments in the early evening, the chirping of birds exchanging for sounds of the impending dusk. "I hope you don't let that govern all your relationships."

At first the words struck a nerve soft in her, but when she saw he was only saying them, not judging her, she nodded.

His eyes went to her bare shoulders. "The air settles cool quickly in the shade. Would you like a wrap?"

"No, I'm fine."

"You don't feel the cold, Soi Fon?"

She frowned, not looking to him. "I'm not cold."

They reached the gate and he lifted the latch, pausing before opening it, watching her eyes finally rise to his. "Would you come to dinner some evening?"

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly despite the fact that they were words she very much wanted to hear, or at least words similar to those.

"Either here, or perhaps in Seireitei," he said, reading the uncertainty passing over her features, the blush shading deeper over her cheeks. "I'd wager you're a Go player. I'd like to see your strategy, if that suits you more."

She wasn't sure why, but this time the smile came to her lips more readily, and she couldn't stop it. "I do play Go, but I haven't in a very long time."

He nodded. "Good. Are you sure you won't stay for dinner?"

"I'm sure." She found herself reluctant to step through the gate, but forced the movement.

He held the gate open even after she'd passed through, seeing her uncertainty "Thank you for the tea. I'll hold you to dinner and a challenge at Go."

She nodded, smiling more at his grin, and then turned down the grassy path that would eventually lead to Seireitei.

* * *

**_-Pairings Suggestions Accepted-_**

**_Poll is up!_**


	28. Chemistry Prerequisites

The warm evening air glazed over the Seireitei streets as Isane wove among them, her pace quickening as she sensed her Captain's reiatsu, a smile forming at her lips, confident she had found her superior. Captain Unohana's absences from Division Four had become more frequent, a few evenings a week recently, and while Isane knew the infirmary could function on its own, everyone on staff preferred to have their commander in residence.

Another reiatsu became apparent, one Isane was beginning to recognize easily, usually accompanied by a flagging of self-preservation instincts, and generally paired with that of her Captain. Lately.

She turned the corner at a brisk walk, and came up on a scene she'd been trying to avoid for the past few weeks. In the shadow of a building ahead before the next intersection of streets was her captain and Captain Zaraki in the alley, bodies folded against each other, his arms encompassing her smaller frame, one large hand beneath her dark hair at the back of her head, pressing her lips to his, nearly lifting her from her feet. And she was in rapture.

Isane took a step back, unable to breathe or even gasp, eyes remaining on the couple as she summoned her will to flee. She did, spinning around and bolting around the street corner, straight into the back of Renji, nearly knocking him to the ground.

She disengaged herself from him as he turned and grinned at the impact, chuckling at the look of astonishment on her face. "You should've braced yourself," he said, nodding behind her at the couple now hidden from their views. "You knew it had to be happening somewhere."

Isane glanced behind her and stepped away, face flushing as he took up walking beside her as she hurried on. "How do you know about it?"

He managed to look guilty, frowning. "I just passed that way myself."

She shook her head, resisting the urge to glance over her shoulder, knowing she wouldn't see anything if she did. "I still can't get used to it."

"I know what you mean," Renji said as they passed a few more streets to where another intersection joined. "I've had to get used to a few oddities myself lately." He looked ahead to the Soul Society Canteen. "Where're you heading?"

She pulled herself from her inner mulling. "Uh, just to see where Captain Unohana was, but .... Nowhere now, I guess."

"Let's get something to drink."

She nodded. "Okay."

* * *

They sat at table Six, as Isane felt the need to leave table Four open with her Captain so close by. The officers' dining room was busy for the early evening hour on a Thursday, but it was mostly the unreserved tables that were filled with seated officers rather than the Division tables in the alcoves along the sides of the walls. Only table Thirteen and table Eight, where Shunsui sat alone, were occupied by captains.

"Are you sure Captain Kuchiki won't need it?" Isane asked as she sat on the bench seat an arm's length away from Renji, looking out through the opening of wisteria lacing around the lattice adorned inlet similar to the ivy and eucalyptus of table Eight.

Renji nodded. "Captain's been busier than usual lately. He spends a lot of time out watching things blow up or catch on fire." He scowled, grumbling something she didn't entirely hear.

She looked at the thick woody vines of wisteria that had twisted themselves tightly among each other and the loosely woven bamboo lattice, a few clumps of purple flowers hanging at intervals. "This is nice. Our division table has ivy and some vines with tiny white flowers."

He looked at the wisteria as if noticing it for the first time. "Yeah, I guess."

A gray robed server peeked in at them from the greenery opening and bowed when she approached the table. "Vice-Captain Abarai, Vice-Captain Kotetsu," she said, lighting the single candle centerpiece on the table. "May I take your orders?"

"What do you want?" Renji asked Isane.

"Oh, uh, just tea," she said, then looked to the server. "Separately."

"I got this," Renji told her before looking to the waiting woman. "Tea, a bottle of saké with two cups, and a large order of hiryozu and aubergine sticks."

The server nodded and looked to Isane, but she shook her head. "Thank you, Vice-Captain," the woman said, bowing and leaving back out the alcove opening.

Renji sat back and looked just about eyelevel to Isane, which she noticed, before her eyes raised to his ponytail, deciding it added a few more inches to his overall height.

"You'll get used to it," he said, grinning as she looked to her hands on the table. When her attention went back to him, he added, "Your Captain and Captain Zaraki."

She groaned before catching herself, leaning one forearm on the table, shaking her head at the candle licking flames inside the blue and green cut glass holder. "I don't think so. He's so unlike her."

He shrugged, stretching his legs out beneath the table, avoiding hers. "Yeah, well, it seems there's a lot of that going around lately." She gave him a wary look and he got the feeling he'd neared a landmine she had carefully covered. "I mean, who knew Captain Kuchiki had such an interest in explosions? He and that Shiba woman. They've been watching things blow up in the evenings together, two or three times a week." His brow creased. "Without an adjutant."

Isane couldn't help but smile a little. "Maybe they're not exploding things, Renji."

He sent her a dark look. "I know that. But she's so ... incendiary. Not like the kind of woman I imagined him to be interested in."

She nodded as the server came back bearing a platter with their order. She set the table with the pot of tea, cups, a bottle of saké, the large plates of hiryozu and deep-fried eggplant, dishes of sauces, and two smaller plates.

After she'd left, Renji pushed one of the plates to Isane, unsure how she'd take his next question. "But you'd know about odd matches, wouldn't you?"

She looked to him quickly as she poured her tea, estimating the ways his words could be taken. She set the pot down, watching him pull the cork from the bottle of saké and pour two cups full, placing one before her. "Yes, I heard about your match, Renji."

He frowned as she giggled. "Not funny. I was talking about you."

She shrugged, helping herself to a stick of grilled eggplant he'd nudged toward her, dipping it in the miso sauce, her eyes straying to a table across the room, past where Shunsui was eagerly watching the entrance to the dining room from his own table. "How about that?"

She didn't point, but Renji knew who she was referring to, having seen the unusual pair of diners at table Thirteen when they came in, where he always looked out of habit. Now he casually glanced to where Ukitake and Soi Fon sat in the ivy-fringed booth, the stature of the white-haired captain dwarfing her across the table.

Renji nodded, eyes narrowing as the two captains' hands reached to the rows of dried green and red azuki beans set up on the table between them in a makeshift game of Go.

Isane thought back on his earlier words as she munched on a bite of eggplant. "You don't think people with vastly different -- I don't know, chemistries, I guess -- can make a good couple?"

"Not vastly different, no." He picked up a tofu ball with his chopsticks and dipped it in the chili and lime sauce, unsure of how vast was vast, even in his own scenario. "There's got to be something in common. Chemistry is fine, but there's got to be enough to keep their interests in each other beyond libido."

"Well, yes," she said, frowning, watching him pop the bite in his mouth. "I think Captain Unohana and Captain Zaraki complement each other, in ways." She frowned more as he shook his head. "Why not?"

"Because they're vastly _way_ different, Isane. He _undoes_ all the work she _does_, and it just comes natural to him. It has its place -- both of their skills do, in Soul Society -- but them _together_? Who would've thought someone with the social graces of a chainsaw would end up with someone like her?"

Isane thought for a moment, searching her memory for his terminology. "What's a chainsaw?"

He wished he'd used a different word, trying to rephrase it better. "Big noisy cutting-tool thing in the Living World."

"Oh," she said slowly, nodding, sipping her tea.

He watched her swallow it, wishing she'd opt to drink the saké instead, perhaps making her more apt to answer. "So, you're last match --"

"My only," she corrected, reaching for her cup of saké.

"You're only," he said, chopsticks posed over another tofu ball on his plate, "how's that going?"

She watched him for a long moment, her ordinarily large eyes narrowing slightly.

Calculating, he thought, wondering if it was something she'd picked up recently.

"There has to be an intellectual connection, too, Renji. Backgrounds, natural attraction, pleasant appearances, that's all important, but there's got to be something cerebral."

"But the rest of the stuff is good, too."

"Oh, yes."

He resisted the urge to tap the chopsticks against his half empty plate, genuinely interested in her answer despite himself. "You haven't volunteered for any experiments, have you, Isane?"

She looked at him sharply, fingers tight on the cup of saké halfway to her lips. "No. It's not like that. I'm not an experimental subject."

"Okay, okay," he said quickly, sorting through a crumbled hiryozu on his plate as she finished her drink. "I'm just saying don't volunteer for something you can't walk away from."

"He's not like that."

"Yes. He is."

"Not to me."

Renji decided not to press the subject, obviously a tender spot with her, and he didn't really feel like making an enemy of Captain of Twelfth. Or any captain, for that matter. He poured her glass full from the bottle of saké and steered the conversation to a topic of more than passing interest to him. He drummed his fingers on the table, debating his question. "How different do you think two people can be and still have it work?"

She sat straighter, leaning slightly toward him. "Who are we talking about now?"

"Not you," he said, sighing and leaning against the booth back, watching her relax some at the answer.

"Oh." She twisted the cup of saké in her fingers, thinking. "Like nobility and common --"

"Any difference. Vast differences even, maybe."

"Shinigami and Living?" she asked, seeing his fingers stop drumming on the table.

"Maybe. Let's say yes."

She smiled, the strong drink choosing her words. "Like you and the Ryoka boy?"

"No, dammit, Isane," he said too loudly, making several of the other table occupants look their way. He cleared his throat as she giggled. "Living and Soul Reaper in general. Is it too much? Do you think it could work between them?"

"Who do you have in mind, Renji?"

"In general, Isane," he emphasized as she lifted an eyebrow.

She considered the question, eating the last bite of lone tofu on her plate. "I guess it depends on the people involved. Some yes, some no." She looked to him, trying to read more on his face than he was willing to share. "Who?"

He muttered a mild oath and looked to Shunsui's table, who was still alone. "Just in general. So I guess the blanket answer would be that _it depends_."

She nodded, doubting he was going to contribute more details than he already had. But it was an interesting concept, she had to admit. "I think there's got to be a lot in line for a couple to work. You can take a good-looking couple with similar backgrounds but no chemistry and all you've got is an arrangement. It's all got to work on some level." She sighed and drank the saké all at once, making him chuckle when she coughed a bit. "But I do think the chemistry is most important. Everything else can be worked out, if no one else interferes, like family or such."

They both found themselves looking to table Eight, where Shunsui was pouring himself another in a short line of drinks. His attention went to the Canteen doorway, hopefulness evident in his face, even at the distance of table Six.

"So this whole matching up business is just throwing a dart," Renji said after a few long moments, looking back to Isane. "Right?"

She shrugged, resting her forearms on the table. "Well-aimed darts, but still darts, I guess."

"Then what's so different about it?"

She frowned, studying him. "Why are we more agreeable to let someone else throw a dart for us?"

He nodded, finishing his saké and pouring himself another, drinking it immediately, watching her face in the candlelight as she thought about the answer.

Finally she nodded. "I guess we think someone else might see something in us or another person we don't. Objectivity. I mean, we can always back out, and not blame ourselves."

He tapped the edge of the cup, nodding. "Is that your analysis?"

She gave him a wry look and stood up. "I've got to get back."

"I've got this," he said as she put a hand to her pocket.

"You sure?"

He stood up. "Yeah. Captain Kuchiki's been more on the generous side lately."

They left then, passing table Eight, where a lone figure still sat, and table Thirteen, where a third bout of Go was underway.

* * *

**Next Match: Strawberry and Shortcake**

**_Poll is up!_**


	29. Strawberry and Shortcake

Ichigo had a better feeling about this match than the last one as he entered Shingo's Surf and Turf restaurant later that afternoon. It couldn't get any worse, he'd decided on the way over, skirting issues about his exact destination when Isshin had asked, and supplying only a little more detail when Yuzu had inquired. That he was still in the Living World was a big plus.

He made his way between the tables of the families already eating at the restaurant and found the booth against the wall marked twenty-seven. Rukia was already seated there, a smile on her round face, plum eyes shining as she caught a glimpse of him approaching.

"Hey, now this can work," he said, offering a rare grin.

She smiled wider until he reached the table, then her face fell into a slight pout, eyes clouding. "You know this is a date, right, Ichigo?"

He stood at the end of the table, oblivious of the occupants of the booth to either side of her. He pulled the coupon out of his pocket, checking the time on it. "Yeah, table Twenty-Seven, six p.m.," he said, scowling. "Why? Are you expecting someone else?"

She sighed, shaking her head, fingers tapping on the table. "No."

He slid into the booth opposite her, hearing a muffle from behind him from the other booth. He studied Rukia's features. "You almost look disappointed now." He frowned deeper. "What happened between me standing there," he pointed a few tables way, "and sitting down?"

Her lower lip quivered a bit before she sighed, throwing a glower at the other couples and families eating in the noisy dining room. "Nothing.  
That's just it." She sighed, looking slightly deflated. "I thought this would be different."

Ichigo narrowed his eyes. "Different than what? Dating in Soul Society? However the hell _that's_ done," he muttered as the waitress came up to their table.

She smiled brightly at them, glancing to each as she gave them menus. "Welcome to Shingo's. Would you like the buffet or to order by menu?"

Rukia watched Ichigo sit straighter in his seat to look past her at the buffet counter deeper into the restaurant, and then look to her.

"Which do you want?" he asked her.

She perked up a little. "Can we get the buffet?"

He nodded and handed the menus back to the waitress. "We're both getting the buffet. Uh, but we'll take two ginger sodas." He glanced back to Rukia. "Okay with you?"

She nodded, smiling a little more.

"Thank you," the waitress said, holding the menus. "Plates are at the buffet counter. I'll bring your drinks. Enjoy your meal." She bowed and left.

Ichigo watched Rukia's face for a moment. "What's up with that face? You keep shifting back and forth like happy-sad-happy-sad. All I did was sit down."

She crossed her arms on the table before her, returning his scowl. Here she was in her best gigai, lilac dress hand-picked for the occasion, wobbling on three-inch heel sandals for a date, and he came in and trounced down on the seat like any other day, she thought. Not a romantic glimmer in sight. "I thought a date would be different with you."

He frowned. "How'd you know it was going to be me?"

"I didn't," she said with a sigh. "As soon as you walked in the door I knew it was you, Ichigo. And then you come in here all like this," she said, gesturing to him.

He looked down at himself. "What's wrong with -- the way I'm dressed?"

She pouted at him. "Your best t-shirt, I see."

He chuckled. "For crying out loud, Rukia. You're mad about a t-shirt?" He pulled at the navy material. "It's one of my favorites."

"Mine, too, but for a date?" Rukia crossed her arms and sat back in the booth seat. "I thought a date would mean more." Her eyes dropped. "A lot more."

He frowned at her, feeling the heat rise in his stomach at her disappointment in him. He was about to speak when she looked up at him, then her gaze focused behind him as he felt a movement on the booth back.

"Maybe she was expecting flowers or a small box of chocolates," Isshin said over Ichigo's shoulder.

Ichigo snapped around to see his father hovering over the booth, grinning his most helpful grin, Yuzu and Karin leaning over the table across their booth. Yuzu wiggled a few fingers in '_hello_' at him, smiling and giggling. Karin looked to Rukia, and then sat back in the booth seat, rolling her eyes.

"What are you doing here?" Ichigo cried, withdrawing from his father's absurd smile.

"Oh, we were just in the neighborhood, and decided to stop in for a bite to eat." Isshin waved to Rukia.

Ichigo slapped his father's hand down. "You've been reading my mail and now you're stalking my date!"

Both Yuzu and Karin giggled.

Ichigo growled. "Can't you get get lost for half an hour, Dad?" he said as tolerantly as he could.

Isshin's face took on a sagging despair. "You don't seem to be doing very well, son. I thought I taught you better than this." He shook his head at the graphic t-shirt. "Not very hip, and certainly not romantic. She's right." He gave Rukia a charming smile.

She smiled back.

Ichigo gritted his teeth. "Dad, this is_ my_ business --"

"You need some pointers, son."

"... and _my_ date..."

"Not for long if you're going to do it_ this_ way."

A tooth threatened to crack under the pressure in Ichigo's clenched mouth. "Dad, can you please get out of here?" He looked to his sisters' dishes of half-eaten ice cream and then to their hopeful, amused expressions. "Can you get out of here soon, Dad?" he asked lowly. "You're cramping my style."

Isshin sighed. "I don't think you have any real style yet, son."

Ichigo made a guttural sound, and then stood up and grabbed Rukia's hand, yanking her out of her seat. "Let's go get our plates. Maybe that joker will leave by the time we're back."

The buffet counter wasn't very busy and the chafing dishes were nearly full, something that should have made Rukia and Ichigo smile. The aroma of steamed rices and vegetables, grilled fish and seafood medleys met them as they found their plates and stood before the first end of the counter. Rukia looked out over the selection, smiling a little when she spied the various dishes, looking to Ichigo for a demonstration as to etiquette.

He was watching her, this time without the causticity he'd had at the table. He held his plate before him, returning her attention. "Is that really what you expected, Rukia?" he asked, his temper faded. "You know, what he said. About flowers and all."

She frowned just a little, her eyes softening, and not because she was looking at the prawns and cucumbers in the suno-mono on the buffet.  
"Everything I've read says there's supposed to be something, Ichigo. Some little thing to let the girl know she's special."

"Those manga you read?" He shook his head. "You can't go by what you read in a shoujo manga, Rukia."

"Why not?" She frowned up at him.

"It's all fantasy." He looked away from her and took the serving spoon of the first buffet dish. "That's what you were expecting." He stirred the miso pickled cucumber. "Do you want some of this dish?"

She nodded and held her plate closer to the buffet and he ladled a scoop on. "Then none of what's in those stories happens?"

He scowled, looking over her dark head to where another couple were joining them in line. "Not much of it. People don't really get swept off their feet by page four, Rukia."

She looked at the broccoli and cucumbers on her plate, then to the next dish as he mounded a heap of rice and egg on his own. Without asking he added a scoop to her plate. "I thought you'd at least wear something other than that t-shirt."

"I like this t-shirt."

"So do I, but with all the other items in your closet? Why not that dark blue button-up shirt, or even the sable one with the tiger-eye buttons?" She frowned as they moved down the counter. "Where _do_ you wear that?"

"Nowhere yet," he grumbled. "Yuzu got if for me for my birthday and I haven't worn it anywhere yet." He cleared his throat. "Not out of the house, anyway."

"I thought it would be more than a t-shirt." She followed his example and reached for a scoop of swordfish dressed in citrus marinade.

Her hair bumped his shoulder as she moved over the counter. For a moment it seemed odd, her hair at his upper arm, and he stepped back from the counter to look at her legs, and then took a more lingering look. He whistled lowly, grinning and reached for the spoon in the next chafing dish. "Nice sandals. You're a lot taller, Rukia. Nice legs, too."

She looked up at him, the swordfish landing with a _plop_ on her plate as she studied his eyes. "You think so?"

He nodded, grinning more at her look of surprise. "What, you think I haven't noticed your legs before?"

She looked back to her plate, following him down the counter. "You've never said anything about them before."

He shrugged. "I noticed."

They finished filling their plates, both heaping, and headed back for booth Twenty-Seven where their ginger sodas were already waiting. Ichigo sighed in relief to see his family had vacated the neighboring booth. He paused before sitting down, watching Rukia's feet slip under the table, a glimpse of her legs beneath the lilac dress bringing another smile, and he wondered if it was the sandals that made them seem more shapely than usual or that he'd allowed himself an honest scrutiny. She certainly hadn't really grown any, he thought. He sat down, watching her head lower over her plate as she stirred the contents into each other.

"I should've brought you something, I guess," he said almost begrudgingly, feeling her foot knock into his beneath the table. "I didn't know it was going to be you, and ... anyway if I brought something corny," her head snapped up and he regretted the choice of words, "something like a flower it would seem presumptuous." He grinned at the word. "Too much for a first date."

She nodded slowly, picking a piece of cucumber with her chopsticks. "I guess you're right. But it's not like we're strangers, Ichigo."

"I know."

For a few moments they ate in relative silence, not strained, not forced for lack of common conversation; simply eating. He watched her separate the cucumbers from the rest of the ingredients in the dishes, and then sort the larger pieces of egg in the rice, preferring to eat them separately.

"Sometimes I miss you being in my closet," he said abruptly, wanting to disown the words even as they left his mouth.

Her eyes shot to his, followed by a hint of blush over her cheeks. She looked back down at her plate. "I miss being there. Sometimes." She decided not to tell him she'd secretly investigated every shirt on his hangers, tried most of them on, and slept with and in a few. He'd always passed the strange mussed appearance off as wrinkled clothes due to his haste in hanging them up improperly. The scent of lilies, however, he'd never been able to explain.

"I liked knowing you were close, Rukia. At least then I knew where you were, and that you were safe."

This time the blush was more in force, and she sipped her soda for support. It did little to help.

"Next time," he said, chopsticks pushing food around the plate, his mind moving to other interests, "I'll bring you a flower or something."

"Next time?"

He shrugged, watching her as she smiled a little at him. "A second date. A proper date. With a button-up shirt and everything." He was about to say more, unload something heartfelt, something he'd surely regret -- again -- but the waitress returned and set a small dish on the table, smiling to each of them before leaving without a word.

Rukia looked from the dish to Ichigo, eyes widening to match the deep shade of her dress. Her fingers closed on the dish edge, carefully placing it in the center of the table, smiling at the cucumber carved into a miniature rabbit. It was a mild green, the lop ears of the animal tipped in green peel, carved in a crouch, intricate detailing on its face, holding a tiny carrot made from the heart of a real carrot. She smiled fondly at it, tenderly picking it up and turning it, murmuring at the exquisite workmanship, for a vegetable.

"It's so cute, Ichigo!" she squealed in a manner he hadn't heard from her before. "You know I love rabbits!"

He looked guiltily from her and then around for the waitress, who was nowhere to be see, and back. He was going to admit he hadn't ordered it, admit to who had, and then accept his comeuppance at Isshin's knowing better how to treat a date, but he didn't get the chance.

"Maybe on our second date," she said, setting the rabbit on the dish so he could see it fully, "we can start over. Not lose anything we have now," she added, eyes growing more tender as she looked to him, "Ichigo, but at least we'll know it's us."

He sat back in the booth, feeling her sandal rest against his foot, searching her face for traces of the actress he knew she could be. But there wasn't any of the beguiling pretense she could turn on and off at will. Her smile was genuine, a shadow of the blush still on her cheeks, and her foot was now resting firmly against his.

"You sure you want a second date with me, Rukia?" he asked, his tone void of any posturing now. He really wanted to know.

She nodded without hesitation. "Absolutely."

* * *

**Next Match: Lean to Rich**

**_Poll is up!_**


	30. Lean to Rich

The dinner rush was just ending as Uryû Ishida made his way to the corner table past the straggling diners that muggy evening at the World Palate restaurant. It wasn't so much that the day was more humid than usual, but he'd worn his best double-yoked khaki shirt with his signature Quincy cross over both front pockets and the cotton material was too thick for the weather.

He debated opening another button at his collar, and decided against it, not wanting to appear too eager, or attempting at too much masculinity. He frowned. Not too much chance of the latter, he thought candidly. Most of the aftershave he wore was symbolic.

"I should have passed on this," he mumbled to himself for the third time since he'd sat down. The corner table wasn't too visible to the other tables, tucked away between the high backs of the booths with carved dowels reaching to the ceiling, separating the tables from each other in the soft, indirect lighting.

Behind his glasses, his eyes surveyed the diners, watching the few families and couples finish most of their meals, the weary wait staff keeping the guests happy. At first he'd discarded the dating service application he'd found on the post office floor. Uryû wasn't one to pick up other people's mail, even from the floor, but he'd found it folded into thirds against the wall when he checked his own post box, and had fully intended to turn it in to an office clerk, expecting it to be someone's dropped mail.

But upon further perusal he realized it was a form, an uncompleted application, and didn't belong to anyone at all. He'd tucked it into his pocket, and later, much later during school's lunch break, when he was certain there was no chance of anyone seeing him at the corner of the school grounds, he'd given the form more attention.

Quincy girls were rare or extinct, he'd figured. And the questionnaire form, strangely, wasn't concerned with the age of its applicant. So here he was.

He watched a familiar figure as it approached across the dining room, at first not recognizing it for who she was, and then not realizing it could actually be her.

Nemu seemed to glide across the low pile carpet on her high-heel Mary Janes, her usually short kimono now replaced with another short black skirt, this time of a rayon blend, edged with a small white ruffle at the hem that swished from side to side as she walked. She wore the same type of long-sleeved jacket with a peplum waist that accentuated her slender hips, a light pink silk blouse peeking out from the single-button jacket closure.

She clutched her small matching pink snap purse, its gold chain wrapped in her hands as she reached his table. A subtle smile spread across her face, cheering her usually indecipherable expression.

Uryû could only blink, gaping slightly at her. "Nemu-san?" He paled, looking beyond her, eyes widening. "Is Captain Kurotsuchi here, too?"

Her smile inched wider. "No, Ishida-san. I'm here for a match at this table. I believe you're here for the same purpose?"

He nodded numbly, and then stood up and gestured to the booth across the table. Instead she slid onto the cushioned bench beside him, pushing him deeper into the center of the semi-circle of the ill-lit corner booth. He sat down abruptly.

"Ah, uh, good-evening, Nemu-san," he said, his voice breaking as he inched away from her, confused by the permanent-looking smile on her thin coral lips. He looked quickly back to the dining room tables. "You're sure you're alone?"

Her head tilted to one side as she set the purse on the table. "I'm here with you, so, no, Ishida-san. I am not alone." She leaned slightly toward him. "Neither are you."

He nodded, breathing easier as she withdrew. "I'm surprised it's you. I mean, I didn't think ... Are you allowed ..." He frowned, remembering this was Nemu, and honesty shouldn't startle her as much as it would most girls. "Captain Kurotsuchi allows you to date?"

She blinked a few times, her smile lifting at one corner of her mouth, eyes taking on something akin to a gleam. "My father performed a few alterations in my programming, and he decided this would be a good opportunity to test the new hormone values he's set." She lifted an eyebrow, smiling at his surprise. "I like it."

He nodded slowly, mind running along exactly what values Kurotsuchi had adjusted, and at what level they were set.

A perky waitress came up to their table, handing each of them a menu, smiling brightly at them. "Hello, welcome to World Palate, global eating at its best. We have cuisine from eight countries. Would you care to order, or do you need a few moments?"

Nemu had already opened her menu, a small giggle dribbling from her lips, making Uryû look quickly to her.

"Nemu-san?" When her eyes rose to his over the menu, he saw a sparkle in them. "Do you know what you want to order?"

"Could we get pizza, Ishida-san? I've never had that before."

He nodded, feeling like he'd wandered in to some surreal alternate zone. "Sure." He looked down at the menu and then turned to the waitress and ordered a medium pizza, asking for Nemu's input for toppings, which sent her into another giggle as she opened her handbag.

The waitress left, and Uryû turned to study Nemu better. Unfortunately, she was doing the same to him, a pen and small notebook in her hand. She flipped it open by its top spiral binding, eyes on his as he spoke.

"What kind of, of," he fought off a frustrated flush, "tweaking did Captain Kurotsuchi do? If it's not too personal to ask."

"He recalibrated my receptive ratios," she said, a slight blush touching her cheeks. "That's how he said I should describe it. Does that sound indelicate, Ishida-san?"

He frowned for a moment, wading through the interpretations her words could hold, deciding they meant precisely what he thought they did. "Exactly how does that ..." He took a shaky breath, looking at the notepad.

"Impact our match?" she offered, pen hovering over the open paper.

"Uh, well, yes."

She smiled a little more. "I was instructed to complete the application on an intellectual level," she told him, watching him grin at the answer. "After the lean-to-rich libido ratios were reestablished, I reassessed the application and changed any answers to reflect my new settings."

Uryû wasn't grinning anymore. Somewhere along her answer her legs had crossed beneath the table, and one ankle was pressed to his. He looked from her to the pen in her hand and back up to her eyes, which seemed larger than normal, and a thicker emerald green than he recalled. "Oh?" he squeaked out. "That's how?"

She nodded.

"You're taking notes?"

"Yes, Ishida-san."

He groaned, feeling his face heat, his collar too warm. He pulled at the material around his neck, swallowing noticeably. "This is just an experiment?"

She sat straighter, her eyes clouding momentarily. "I get the _feeling_ that upsets you."

"Uh, well, it's a little -- no, highly -- irregular. For a date," he said lowly, disliking the idea much more than he cared to admit.

She frowned, closing the notepad and putting it and the pen back in her small bag. "That was not my intention, Ishida-san." She snapped the bag's closure and pushed it away.

"I don't want to be an experiment, Nemu-san," he said slowly, regretting the frown now on her face.

"I want to catalog this experience in detail so I can take its full impact away for further investigation."

He frowned. "Not for your father?"

A different sort of smile came back to her lips. "No. For me." Her eyes lit at the words. She leaned her forearms on the table, edging closer to him in the dimly lit booth, her gaze falling over his face as she moved. She nodded to him. "That."

"What?" he said guardedly, aware of the flush on his face.

"That sudden coloring of your cheeks," she said, eyes resting on his face. She moved closer, her knee against his with determination as she leaned to him. "And your eyes. The pupils dilated disproportionately just now. They're enormous, Ishida-san."

He swallowed, nodding, focusing on her face closing in on his, bringing with her the scent of a citrusy floral until his back was firmly against the booth side. "Yours are .... nice, too."

She paused closer to him, his glasses seeming to keep her at bay. "You smell of musk. That's cologne, designed to arouse --"

"Nemu-san --"

She cut him short, closing the few inches between them, pressing her lips to his intently, jarring his glasses as he absorbed her kiss. He opened his eyes, and for a brief second he only stared back at her, his first thoughts out his mouth.

"You didn't close your eyes," he said when she pulled a few inches from him.

"Should I?" she asked, her breath against his.

He nodded only slightly, prepared to say more when she moved in again.

This time her eyes were closed, soft lips more intent on his, and Uryû found himself responding in kind and by taking her in his arms behind the booth. He swore he held his breath for a solid minute. When she settled to his side for more business at hand, he made himself hold her away, surprising himself.

"Nemu-san," he said as loudly as he dared with the few other diners still present, who were oblivious to the actions in the corner booth.

"Yes?" She hovered close, her smile verging on tantalizing. "I had my eyes closed this time, Ishida-san."

"Yes, I ... yes, but could we save some of this for the second date?" he said meekly, feeling just a little overwhelmed.

This time her eyes lit with accomplishment. "A second date together?"

He cleared his throat, nodding. "I don't know if ..." He glanced at the purse, mind on the notebook inside. "Shall we go for a walk?"

She sat back, face registering a flicker of confusion, and then a more detached expression. "Is that protocol?"

"Uh, maybe we could ... I'd like to ..." He watched her sit back farther. He relaxed a bit and eased into a more normal posture against the booth back. "I know this is all new to you, and you've had recent _adjustments_," he said, fighting off the flush overtaking his face, "but maybe we could get the pizza for take-out and go for a walk?"

"A walk," she said slowly, mulling over the weight of his few words. "Beaches, moonlight, midnight sand, salt-scented air of the ocean --"

"Just around town," he said quickly, his face reddening in force. "Without thinking about the notebook or your research material. Just talk. All this is too fast for me."

"How slow should we go?" Her fingers edged toward the purse.

He took a deep breath and collected himself. "Much. I'd like to talk with you first." He sighed shakily. "Maybe a second date would be better, after, ah, some adjustments," he added with more honesty. "I think your levels are running a little rich."

She nodded, smiling.

"Good."

* * *

**_-Pairings Suggestions Accepted-_**

**_Poll is up!_**


	31. A Little Light Reading

It wasn't like Nanao to ignore or delay responding to her captain's call. Usually she was up and out of her chair in seconds -- if not already at his side -- but for the past few hours his incessant beckoning had become something verging on a fixation.

She appeared in the doorway to his office for the umpteenth time, her sharp look trained on his lackadaisical expression as he sat behind his desk, mulling over another set of application forms. "What now?"

He heaved an exaggerated sigh and looked pitifully at her. "I need your opinion on these matches, dear Nanao."

She refused to refer to the _dear_ in her routinely manner, having already made those points four times already that early afternoon. "Another, Captain? How many are you going to attempt today?"

He glanced to her with his best dejected look, hoping for that elusive indulgent response he was certain she still possessed but rarely let him have. "I want to get these right. I'm especially troubled over these two." He held up a couple of papers. "If I don't get them matched right our reputation will be in question."

She gave him a shrewd look and crossed the office to his desk. "I don't think your applicants will take it that seriously, Captain."

"Oi, they may." He pulled out the chair beside his, grinning as her eyes went to it. "Lend me your feminine instincts, Nanao."

She took her place beside him, which was faintly warm since the last time he'd needed her feminine instincts not so long ago, and looked to the applications on the desk. She sighed and sat back. "We've -- you've -- already matched these two. You matched them at noon, and two, and again at three o'clock, Captain." She raised an eyebrow at him, hoping it appeared more severe than she felt. "I think they work. I know they work. _You_ know they work. Everyone but _they_ know it works."

"But will it work beyond theory?" he asked, his eyes on the applications as his arm settled at the back of her chair. "On paper, yes, but in spirit?"

She sat straight in the chair, his arm providing more warmth than was welcome on the hot summer day, but somehow not unwanted proximity, bringing the faint scent of aftershave with him. Which made her question why, for a man who obviously shaved so seldom, he was so intent on skipping the chore to go straight to the _after_ part.

"Yes, in spirit," she said, sighing. "In theory, in spirit, destined for each other, fated, stars aligned in the heavens, all of it." Her finger tapped one of the forms. "It's one of your best matches, Captain Kyouraku. Why are you doubting it?"

His eyes searched hers for a long moment, holding her attention as the flush rose over her cheeks. He sighed. "I've annoyed you, my dear."

"No, I'm not annoyed," she said, pushing her glasses farther back on her nose, willing the heat to leave her face.

He looked back to the forms on the desk, attention drifting between them for a longer moment before he smiled and pulled another application from beneath the stack to one side. "This is what you're worried about." He slid her questionnaire before them. "We haven't matched you to anyone yet, sweet Nanao, and you're afraid we'll run out of --"

"No, nothing of the sort," she said quickly, reaching for the paper.

His hand halted the form. "I want nothing but the best for you, Nanao. You must know that by now." His eyes held a rare sincerity in their brown depths. "I want you to be happy."

"I'm happy now," she said, voice faltering, fingers paused on the paper.

"Are you?"

She nodded.

He watched a softer malleability over take her eyes, making him look slowly back to the form, clearing his throat. "Because I'd hate for you to end up like one of these." He pulled a form out from beneath hers. "Unable to overcome a captain's treason, laden with angst, dismal and doubtful, ah, and getting worse." He set another form alongside it. "Or like this one, so driven to prove herself capable that she'd help knife her captain to a tree to take photos of his half-naked body."

Nanao eked out a whimper before she could stop herself, the images flashing through her mind. The color drained from her face as she kept her attention on the form. "It wasn't all her fault, Captain."

"No, Captain Soi Fon helped," he said with a chuckle. "Not easy to get away from something Captain of Second Division is behind."

"The Women's Association was behind it." An ill feeling overtook her. "She said she apologized."

"Hmm? Oh, yes she has. Often and whole-heartedly." He looked between the forms. "That's why I think her energy could be better used to lift this one," he tapped the form beside it, "out of his misery."

She nodded, feeling his fingers at the edge of her shoulder, pressing slightly. "So -- again -- you've matched the same shinigami to each other for the fourth time this afternoon." She sighed, aware of the fingers drawing lightly down the length of her sleeve. She didn't look at him, knowing the blush would return in force. "Congratulations, Captain."

"Thank you, Nanao."

For a few moments they sat, both watching the forms on the desk top as if they expected them to do something other than lay there.

Shunsui sighed. "You may have the rest of the day off, Nanao."

She looked quickly to him. "Captain?"

He smiled. "You work hard, Nanao. You deserve it. In case you have pressing issues to attend."

"No..."

"Oh. Well, in case."

"I really don't. I should stay and reorganize --"

"I insist."

She nodded, watching his smile, unable to see beyond it. "Thank you, Captain."

She stood and collected the forms, leaving hers on the desk with the other stack of unmatched applications. She'd barely gotten to the door when he spoke again.

"Do you have any plans this evening, Nanao?"

She stopped at the doorway, turning to look at him. "No, Captain." She waited, almost anticipating his next query, feeling her pulse quicken.

He nodded, watching her with a contained appetence. "You're certain?"

She sighed, realization setting in that he was merely asking of her evening, and that was all. "Yes."

"Oh."

She looked down to the forms. "I'll make the reservations and have the invitations sent, Captain."

His smile was automatic. "Very well, Nanao."

* * *

The day dissolved quietly into evening and Nanao spent most of that time doing the paperwork she'd brought home from the Eighth Division office. It was considerate of her captain to give her the afternoon off, but she felt pressed to finish the majority of paperwork from the day.

The rooms of her quarters were cooler than the Division office, with a soft breeze that made its way in through the open windows, carrying scents of late-blooming hollyhock and moonflowers, making the rooms fragrant. She'd completed most of her work by ten o'clock, surprised at the late hour, having worked through her usual dinner time.

"The rest can wait," she decided, standing from the low table in the main room and stretching. She pulled the combs from her hair and let the dark tresses fall, smiling at the freedom.

She straightened the papers into piles of finished and unfinished work on the table and went into her bathroom. She'd declined Momo's invitation to join her for stitching that evening, and had to keep a knowing smile from her face as she spoke with the short girl. She wondered if it showed in her expression. She hoped not.

She ran the warm and cool water in the tub, anticipating a luxurious bath of lilac and sandalwood oils as she shook in the scents from separate bottles. She set a towel and washcloth by the tub. As was her nature, she went into her bedroom and compiled a bundle of paperwork to read in the tub, but this wasn't duty. She switched on the sink's overhead light in lieu of the room's center ceiling light, not wanting to add to the warmth of the weather.

Well, some of it was duty, she thought, just a few memos from the Division staff mixed in, but most of it was just leisure. Articles from the _Seireitei Communication_, a few letters from other members of the Division, minutes from the Women's Association, and such like.

She pulled the short stool closer to the tub and set the papers on it, and then turned off the water. She slipped off her robes and out of her underclothes, smiling almost guiltily at the cooler air on her bare body. She was beginning to anticipate the turn of weather for autumn after the inordinately hot summer. She put one toe into the tub, finding the water temperature cool. Perfect.

She eased into the water, sending small ripples to the sides of the tub, gentle sloshes that stilled almost immediately. She sunk to her neck, the water lapping at her chin, smelling of the scented oils.

She remained immobile for a few long moments, letting her mind sift through the day's events, of which there were few aside from work, and then leaned back to the tub edge and flipped her dampened hair over the side. She reached for the towel and dried her hands and then chose the first few papers off the stool top.

Her eyes skimmed the front page of the _Seireitei Communication_. A new update on Captain Ukitake's serialized novel, she noted with a nod. "Oh, and Vice-Captain Kira has an update on his novel, too," she murmured aloud. She turned a page to see a collection of haikus from Shuuhei.

"Talented fellow," she admitted, reading a few silently. "Who knew he had such a sensitive side under all those tattoos?"

She flipped a few pages, reading a brief passage in the scientific and medical pages before setting the paper aside nearly half an hour later. It was a Thursday edition, and mostly given to the arts and sciences, whereas the Tuesday editions -- the ones carrying her article series titled "_Please Be Moderate_" -- was more devoted to lifestyle and Divisions matters and had already come out for the week.

She set it on the floor near the tub and reached for the next bit of news, memos from the Division staff, and put those on top of the _Communication_ after a cursory glimpse in favor of the last remaining piece of paper. She leaned her head against the back of the tub, the water cool around her, and opened the folded single sheet of paper. It took a few moments in the poor lighting of the overhead sink vanity light to realize what it was, and when she did she nearly tossed it unread onto the pile with the other papers.

But it wasn't fan fiction, not even a poem, as Shunsui had told her it was. Instead it was the piece of paper he'd left for her the night he'd wandered to her quarters after his long absence from the office that day in mourning over Renji's failed match the night before, the night Momo had delivered Shuuhei's application.

If it was a poem, it didn't rhyme, was her first thought. And then she ceased thinking and simply read.

"My dear Nanao," it began in her captain's scrawling characters, "it has come to my attention for some time now that you've ceased to be the little girl of Eighth Division, the girl who let me read to her on occasion so many years ago when your mentor went missing, the girl with the large violet eyes and inquiring mind.

"I've watched you work diligently in your studies, and apply yourself with such dedication I wanted no other as my lieutenant. But now you're a woman, Nanao, and I've come to appreciate so much more about you as I've learned more of you. You've held my heart for decades, and kept me at arm's length from your own," she murmured aloud, eyes fastened on the ink on the paper, her hand trembling slightly as she sat straighter in the tub.

"If there is any possibility you can open your heart to me, at any point in the future, I invite you to join me at Table Eight at the Soul Society Canteen. No commitment, sweet Nanao; all I ask is for your company. An open invitation, any Thursday evening.

"If there's no interest in such a meeting, I'll reluctantly accept that. Yours from the beginning, Shunsui."

Nanao stared at the letter, the last few words barely audible from her lips. She stood up in the tub, unaware of the water coursing down her, some of it splashing onto her towel on the floor.

It was Thursday. It had been Thursday all day, making it Thursday night now. In fact, every one of the last three weeks since he'd given the letter to her had had a Thursday, too.

She didn't have to see a clock to know the Canteen was closed for the night, and she didn't have to possess Division Four's knowledge of anatomy to know the pain burning in her chest was her heart.

Her hand lowered the letter as she sniffled, the other hand clasping over her eyes as they closed against the tears that suddenly formed behind her glasses.

"I'm sorry, Shunsui," she said softly.

* * *

**Next Match: Live Wire**

**_Poll is up!_**


	32. Livewire

She paused at the captains' entrance of the Soul Society Canteen, more than a little nervous about going inside that warm Saturday evening. Kiyone Kotetsu couldn't remember the last time she'd been there without Captain Ukitake or at least Sentarou Kotsubaki at her side.

Nagging, nudging, judging at her side, she added to the thought of Sentarou. She stepped in, feeling a moderately overwhelmed at why she was there, feeling underdressed without her high collar that she'd made an effort to omit the last few weeks.

It was under advice from her older sister Isane that Kiyone had made the subtle alterations in her appearance. Kiyone moved farther into the room, nodding bows to the few captains' tables she passed along the wall, glancing at the other higher seated officers at some of the inner tables.

Truthfully, it had taken a week to get accustomed to her newer more open neckline, but she liked it, even if it did bring ribbing from Sentarou a few times. Her eyes went to table Thirteen to see it empty. It was with apprehension that she'd walked out of the Thirteenth Division grounds alone, knowing it left Sentarou to his own devices to win their captain's favor.

She paused at the alcove of ivy framing table Eight, smoothing her hair with a gloved hand, peeking inside. She smiled.

Izuru Kira stood when he saw her, offering a polite smile as the short woman looked hopefully to him. He bowed slightly. "Vice-Captain Kotetsu."

She stepped into the alcove, bowing quickly. "Vice-Captain Kira." She held up her reservation coupon. "This is the right table?"

He nodded, gesturing to the booth beside him. "How are you?"

"Oh, good." She smiled and slid behind the table, inching nearer to him as the shock of blond hair fell over his eyes, blocking most of his face from her view. She folded her hands in front of her on the table, smiling at the lit candle in the cut glass globe centerpiece that lent a pleasant light to the niche. She tilted her head to one side to see him better. "Is this your first match?"

"Uh, no, but my first in Soul Society," he said, offering a timid smile. "You?"

"Oh, well, my first at all." She sat straighter, trying to see table Thirteen through the drapery of ivy and eucalyptus over the booth sides. Empty. "You can call me Kiyone, if you like."

He nodded. "Izuru."

"Izuru."

A gray robe waitress stepped into the alcove then, bowed to them, and handed them each a menu. "Good evening, Vice-Captain Kotetsu, Vice-Captain Kira. Would you like to order now, or do you need a while?"

Izuru looked to Kiyone, who smiled wider when she could see his face fully. "Do you know what you want?"

"I like everything but persimmon wine." She paled a little at the memory. "I don't do so good with that."

He stifled a groan. "I'm against persimmons." He looked back to the server. "An order of shinjyo and a large rolled omelet to start."

Kiyone's fingers tapped the table at the mention of fried prawn balls. "Ooh, and obimaki enoki and a bottle of Midori."

"Very good," the server said, collecting the menus and bowing before she left the table.

Izuru turned to look a Kiyone when they were alone. "Midori?"

She nodded eagerly. "My favorite."

"Momo likes that, too, when she does drink." He saw her face fall a little, and spoke quickly to counteract anything he'd said wrong. "I don't drink much with her. She saves that for her girl friends."

"Sentarou hates it. I guess that's what got me hooked on it," she said, routinely looking to the empty table Thirteen. She leaned over the table in an attempt to see Izuru behind the swag of blond hair falling over his left eye, deciding Isane's description of him was on target. While the hairstyle did indeed give him a devilishly mysterious appearance, she couldn't see enough of him. On impulse she moved his hair back from his face, surprising him, and herself a little "Do you mind if I sit on the other side of you, Izuru?"

He was facing her completely now. "Well, no ..."

He'd expected her to scoot out from the booth and go around the table, but she popped up and crossed over between him and the table, one white gloved hand on his shoulder for support as she went. She dropped down on his right side, smiling back at him.

"Oh, this is better," she said, eyes traveling over his face now that she could see it more clearly.

He nodded, watching her hands fold again before her, readjusting his hakama she had unsettled on her trip. Her hands stilled across each other, her eyes darting around the dining room. He followed her gaze to table Thirteen. "Are you sure you want to be here, Kiyone?"

Her attention snapped back to him, eyes widening. "Yes. Don't you?"

He nodded, sighing. "You keep looking at your Division table and I was wondering if you maybe preferred to be there."

Her eyes dropped to her hands, a small pout pulling at the corners of her mouth. "No, no..."

He looked to table Thirteen as Ukitake and Sentarou entered the room and sat down at it, deep in conversation. Kiyone's head raised and her eyes went to her captain at sensing his presence.

She pursed her lips and looked slowly back to Izuru.

"Should you be there?" he asked, unsure he wanted to inquire.

For a moment she debated the answer, and then shook her head. "Captain Ukitake gave me the evening off. Tomorrow, too, but I told him I'd be in for work."

"That was nice of him."

She smiled brighter. "He's a very good captain. Generous, and kind, and ... forgiving."

He nodded, eyes going to her hands drumming on either side of her forearms across from each other. "Do you choose to wear gloves, or is that something required?"

"Oh? Oh," she said, looking to her gloves, her fingers idling. "Sentarou said I had hands like a baby."

Izuru glanced to the third seat officer at table Thirteen. "So you covered them up?"

She frowned, nodding.

"I'll bet they're not child-like," he said, sitting back in the booth seat. "He's just teasing you."

She studied a glove, nodding slightly.

"Show me," he said.

Instant pink flushed over her cheeks, making a smile claim her lips. "Okay." She pulled off one glove, feeling conspicuous about the movement, fingers curling slightly.

He grinned, which encouraged her to remove the second glove. He bent slightly over the table, taking her fingertips in one hand, waiting for her admonition. When none came, he tilted her fingers at the knuckle, examining her hand and wrist until she giggled.

"You have a lovely hand, Kiyone," he said, eyes going to her other hand that was balled tight as she fought the blush. "I'll bet that one is pretty, too, when not so angry. Not like a baby's at all. Small, yes, but dainty like a woman's." He didn't add _soft_, not yet. "Officer Kotsubaki shouldn't have said that."

She looked down to where his thumb was drifting over her fingertips, smiling slowly.

Across the dining room at another table Shunsui and Yamamoto both had paused the cups of saké to their lips at Izuru Kira's gesture. They were only halfway through their first bottle of the premium alcohol, and the pouches of coins beside each man's cup were waiting to be meted out. Shunsui was the first to speak.

"Well, would you look at that?" he murmured in disbelief. Yamamoto had missed Kiyone's crossing over Izuru, and Shunsui hadn't commented on that, but they'd both witnessed _this_. "What has he had time to say?"

Yamamoto's eyes were more open than usual. He downed the saké, frowning. "What do you expect when you light a firecracker under a mouse, Shunsui?"

The other captain sighed, drinking his saké. "I think I've been doing things the wrong way all these years," he said under his breath.

They watched from the table across the room, not their usual table for observing table Eight, but one with a better view. To declare a clearer winning decision, Shunsui had insisted. This match was looking very promising for him. He cast an oblique glance to where Ukitake was also taking note of the coziness at table Eight. So was Sentarou. As evidenced by the stranglehold he had on the small jug of saké in his large hand.

The order arrived at Kiyone and Izuru's table a moment later, and the server placed the dishes before the couple, the young woman's bare hands not going unnoticed as she served the dinner and set the Midori and cups near the centerpiece.

After the server had left, Izuru offered to pour both he and Kiyone a cup of the green tinted liquor. She readily agreed, pushing a plate in front of him and setting three obimaki enoki before him, smiling at the balled mushroom tips extending from the rolled bacon secured around them.

"I've never had these," Izuru confessed, watching her set a fourth on his plate before serving herself.

"They're very good," she assured, nodding, the scent of melon growing stronger as he set a cup near her plate. "I have them all the time. Sentarou says they look like Captain Zaraki's hair," she added in a hushed tone, leaning closer, holding up a bacon bunched bundle, wiggling it so the mushroom tips bobbled. "But he only says it when he's drunk."

"I imagine so," Izuru said dryly. He offered the plate of fried prawn balls to her and she took two.

"Thank you."

He served himself a few and set the plate down, watching her squeeze a lemon wedge over the shinjyo, her fingers still without the gloves.

She hesitated with her next words, something that happened rarely with her contemporary, but those were always _other_ words. "You had a match outside Soul Society?"

He nodded as he took a bite of prawn ball, unwilling to detail his dinner with Orihime too precisely. "In the Living World."

"Oh?" She took a bite of the bacon wrapped mushroom and chewed for a moment, then asked, "You didn't like it?"

He cleared his throat. "Shinigami should stick to shinigami."

She nodded. "I think so."

For a few moments they ate, Kiyone cutting the rolled omelet in half so they could share it, and topping off their cups of Midori twice, bringing a slight flush to both of their faces, partly due to the strong alcohol. Izuru was a little reluctant to try the bacon-wrapped mushrooms, especially after Kiyone had compared it to the Eleventh Division captain's hairstyle, but braced by the liquor, he did, agreeing it was tasty, and best when accompanied by the fruity alcohol. She nodded wholeheartedly.

They'd finished the dishes, and the dinner was winding toward the point Izuru usually -- on those spare occasions that he had dinner with a female -- got antsy and dread-ridden, but this time those weren't the feelings surfacing. Kiyone hadn't pushed any sensitive buttons, hadn't tripped his safety nets or sprung a trap door he wasn't aware of. She'd jabbered nonstop, but about matters that didn't need him to answer, and he liked it.

He sat watching the candlelight play off her chestnut hair that curled around her face, large hazel eyes flecked with violet in the flickering light. She finished off her drink, breathing faint melon scent when she looked to him, a more permanent pink tint to her cheeks.

Izuru flung aside his typical misgivings and decided to trust his Midori-emboldened instincts. "Would you like to go to dinner again, Kiyone?"

She smiled wide, nodding. "Tomorrow? Because I have tomorrow off."

He nodded. "Sure." He looked at the empty plates before them. "Can I walk you back to your Division?"

She giggled. "It'll take almost an hour, Izuru."

"I know."

She nodded.

Across the room Shunsui was smiling broadly at the two shinigami emerging from table Eight's niche of greenery. The gloves were still in Kiyone's hand, the fingers of her other hand closing under Izuru's sleeve at his crooked elbow as they passed through the dining room and out the door.

Shunsui chuckled as Yamamoto watched the pair leave, a throaty sigh heaving from the older man.

"I suppose you think you've got this match won," he said, gaze steady on the younger captain.

Shunsui nodded, leaning back in his chair. "I'd have to say so, General."

Yamamoto looked to his pouch of coins, begrudgingly pushing it across the table through two empty bottles of saké. "You're up by two. I say we put the tab for this little venture on your next match." His eyes bore into Shunsui's, a momentary glint flashing. "All or nothing. The whole tab for however many you've got left. Cleared."

Shunsui thought for a long moment about his next match, and then thought about the applications still to be matched. He nodded. "You've got yourself a wager."

Yamamoto smiled, drawing his long whiskers into a skewed pair of stalactites. "I'll send Vice-Captain Sasakibe over in the morning for an application."

Shunsui stopped grinning, hand paused on the cup of saké he was dearly going to need in the next few moments. "You want us to match your vice-captain, sensei?"

Yamamoto chuckled. "No, Shunsui. I want you to match _me_."

Shunsui blinked several times, staring at the captain-general. "You want to be the next match?"

"No. Not next." Yamamoto stood, his cane to one side of the table as he enjoyed the shattered look on Shunsui's face. "But I want to see what you think you can do."

* * *

**Next Match: Sign of the Dragon**

**_Thanks for reading!_**

**_Poll is up!_**


	33. Sign of the Dragon

Momo Hinamori sat alone at table Eight that Sunday evening, dark eyes taking in the fragrant eucalyptus and ivy lacing the sides of the alcove, smiling in anticipation and a bit of nervousness at being there. It was only after much persuasion from Shuuhei that she took her match seriously, delaying submitting her application until recently.

She sighed, seeing a few of the other tables through the draped foliage at the table's inlet opening. Both Shunsui and Captain-General Yamamoto had been at another table across the room when she'd entered the Soul Society Canteen, and she tried to remind herself she was not a bug under a microscope but an invited guest to table Eight.

It was a nice change, as she hadn't eaten at table Five since Aizen's departure, nor would she ever again. In fact, she'd requested the table designated for Fifth Division to be reassigned to another location. She had yet to hear of the results, but the head of the wait staff had told her the chances were good in her favor.

She touched the white cloth bun at the back of her head, wondering if she should have gussied up more. But no, her casual and careful customary appearance was best; better to appear as she always was rather than to needlessly impress.

Advice from Shuuhei that she followed. Her brow creased in a thin frown. But Shuuhei had yet to be matched, so how good his words of advice were was anyone's guess.

She looked up from pondering the vice-captain's suggestions to see Tôshirô step through the table's entry, a scowl already planted firmly on his face. When he saw her his features broke into a crooked grin.

"Shiro-chan!" she said too loudly, with too much enthusiasm, waving a few fingers as he slid behind the booth on the other side of the table. "Ooh, I mean _Captain_ Hitsugaya-kun."

A frown replaced most of his grin. "Knock it off, Momo," he said, watching her mock a look of exaggerated respect. Part of his grin came back. "You're here for a match, right?"

She nodded eagerly, smiling brighter at him as she rested her forearms on the table and folded her arms across each other. "Who were you expecting?"

He frowned more intently. "Why are you filling out an application to be matched? You're looking for a man, Momo?"

The fingers of one of her hands tapped the back of her other arm. "Every member at the Women's Association had to fill out two applications." She raised an eyebrow and leaned closer to him. "What's your excuse, _Captain_?"

"Hmm, my first match wasn't good. Too old and way too tall," he grumbled.

Momo sat straighter on the booth cushion, raising her several inches above him, fingers stilling on her arm. "I'm older than you and taller than you, too, Shiro-chan."

He looked up at the top of her head and then to footsteps advancing on their table. "That's different."

They both looked to the entry as Rangiku poked her head through the ivy, a few papers in her hand. She glanced to each of them, smiled, and entered despite the warning look she got from the short captain.

"There you are, Captain. Hi, Momo," she said, smiling wider at Momo before sitting beside the smaller vice-captain, shoving her over with a hip until the girl was snugged up beside Tôshirô without a say in the matter.

"Ugh, Rangiku," Momo said, pulling on her robe to free it from under the bottom of Rangiku's hakama pants. "This is not official business."

Rangiku smiled, nodding, eyes on Tôshirô's fuming face. "I'll be quick."

"Matsumoto, leave now," Tôshirô said through clenched teeth. "I'm doing something here."

The taller woman winked at him, her smile warming. "Gotcha, Captain, but all I need is your signatures real quick and I'll let you get back to being cutesy with --"

"Matsumoto," he growled as Momo flushed a pink color, "get lost. Now, Lieutenant."

Rangiku had just put the papers on the table, avoiding the single candle glass holder glowing a flame, a pen in her other hand. "But it's paperwork, Captain Hitsugaya. I know how you feel about paperwork, and I _am_ working on the weekend, and --"

"That's because you took a day off last week, Matsumoto," Tôshirô said tightly, leaning over the table across Momo to his taller vice-captain. "Get lost. I'll see you at the office tomorrow."

The pen stayed posed in Rangiku's hand as her eyes roved over the decorative greenery. Her attention switching between him and Momo before softening as her voice took on a teasing quality. "Ooh, you're matched? Yes, I can see it. No surprise there," she said, sizing up Momo as if for the first time. "But she _is_ older than you, Captain, and as I recall you don't like that --"

"Matsumoto," he growled, catching Momo in the crossfire as he leaned to the other woman. "This is --"

"-- and taller, which bothers you, too, I know," she added with a sigh before easing into a giggle. "Okay, okay, I'll leave and let your little hormones do their work, but first I need a couple signatures, Captain."

Tôshirô snatched the papers and pen out of her hands and sat back.

At the table against the opposite wall where Yamamoto sat with a less than composed Shunsui the two captains were watching table Eight's three occupants. There was more on the evening's match than usual, and the man behind it all was more than a little ruffled for several reasons.

Yamamoto frowned at the table inside the alcove of ivy and eucalyptus. "Three? You matched up three, Kyouraku? That is not how you told me you were running this fiasco."

Shunsui frowned at table Eight, leaning his head to the side, trying to see better through the foliage, recognizing the scowl on what he could see of Tôshirô's face, but unable to see more beyond Rangiku's auburn hair blocking most of his view. "Ah, we didn't match three, General. I think Matsumoto is an add-on."

Yamamoto squinted at the table. "A what?"

"Uh, not invited. Oh, she's leaving. I think it was just business, General," Shunsui said with a sigh.

Both captains, and pretty much every other male in the Canteen dining room, watched Rangiku make her departure out the exit before turning back to their own matters. Shunsui couldn't see the shadow of an amused smile behind Yamamoto's long whiskers, but it was there.

"Now, about my application," the general said slowly, watching Shunsui's face drop into an atypical look of rapt attention, "it's been quite a while since I've listed my strengths of character and best physical qualities."

Shunsui downed his saké, swallowing quickly and pouring himself another, dreading the topic. "I've been thinking about that."

"You've been thinking about my physical qualities, Kyouraku?" There was a bite in Yamamoto's tone.

"No, no, General," Shunsui corrected hastily, "but you as a whole... Such a challenge. We haven't had an application like yours yet."

"You don't have _mine_ yet, either," Yamamoto reminded him sternly.

"No, no..." Shunsui drank his saké without so much as tasting the premium quality in the pale liquid. "It's such an honor to think you think we can find a woman worthy of spending time with you, even for an evening, a woman of such caliber and class, with the intellect and breeding I know you'd expect, and beauty, naturally," Shunsui said, now babbling, which he hadn't done while sober in years. "Of course she'd have to be able to hold her own in polite conversation as well as --"

"Cut the dung prattle, Kyouraku," Yamamoto said curtly. "You'll get my questionnaire tomorrow, so you'll have more to go on. And mind you don't leave it all up to that overworked vice-captain of yours." He allowed a smile to extend through his whiskers. "Now there is an intelligent woman, and dedicated, too. Certainly knows her place in Soul Society, punctual, from what I've heard of her, takes her duties seriously." He nodded. "A genuine asset to the community."

Shunsui stared at his superior, the cup of saké halted halfway to his lips. "Vice-Captain Ise? My Nanao?"

"Surely you recognize her by my description, don't you, Shunsui? You've certainly studied her long enough." Yamamoto filled his cup from the bottle of saké and waited for Shunsui to drink his before offering to fill it.

Instead Shunsui set down the cup, an unfamiliar chill feeling creeping up his spine despite his layers of clothing in the summer day's heat. "Are you suggesting I match you with ... with my Nanao?"

Yamamoto lifted a heavy white eyebrow. "Now you're matching your applicants before they apply? What utter confidence you have in your intuitions, Shunsui."

"No, no, General, I thought you were proposing such a ..." he swallowed quickly, forcing the words out, "such a match."

Yamamoto filled the younger captain's half empty cup from the bottle, enjoying the rare look of loss on his former student's face. "My application will be at your division office in the morning."

He looked back to table Eight as Shunsui pondered his saké. Shunsui's mind was twitching between thoughts, none of which were of the much-beloved strong alcohol in front of him. He'd seen little of his vice-captain since Friday morning when he'd come into the office late, and she'd been uncannily quiet, followed by an afternoon of captains' meetings, and a few hours on Saturday during which she'd been inordinately preoccupied. He hadn't told her yet of Yamamoto's willingness to set his love-life in their hands.

"They seem well-matched," Yamamoto said, nodding as the gray-robed server brought an empty platter from table Eight's entry.

Shunsui followed the general's gaze. "Hmm? Oh, yes. Very good for each other."

The two captains weren't alone in noticing the pair at table Eight, and Tôshirô had noticed the attention he and Momo had garnered from other tables in the dining room. He sat behind the table, Momo still at his side, two orders of the finger food specials before them. He looked around the dining room, sitting to his full height to see glimpses through the foliage of the diners staring back at him. Some were outright watching, others stealing furtive glances, a few others repeatedly passing by the entryway to take a surreptitious peek at the table.

Tôshirô had had enough eavesdropping, however discreet it was, when he saw both Shuuhei and Izuru craning their necks to see inside the entryway opening from table Nine.

He turned to Momo, who was pretending not to notice the other diners, her attention on the plate before her she hadn't yet started to eat. "Do you want to get this to go, Momo? We could go to Fifth and eat in peace. Without an audience."

Her eyes lifted quickly from her plate, holding a softness he hadn't seen in them for a long while, a softness he missed seeing in her. It wasn't the wounded look she'd worn after realizing her captain had betrayed everything she knew and attempted to kill her, but another yielding look he knew since their childhood.

"Just us, Shiro-chan?"

He nodded.

Her eyes rested on his face for a long moment, smiling at his smooth cheeks so recently shaved of any hint of hair. "Are you wearing cologne?"

He reddened, looking down at the chicken tsumami and yakitori getting cold on his plate before turning his attention back to her. "You're wearing perfume, too, Momo," he said in a low tone. "Peaches and something flowery."

She nodded, smiling more fully. "You smell all grown up."

He'd planned to take offense to her remark, knew he should have, and if it had been anyone else, he would have.

But it was Momo, and he didn't.

"You smell nice, too."

She nodded and pushed their plates together in the center of the table as he looked around the room for their server.

"Let's go, Shiro."

He waved over their server when he caught her attention at another table and requested their dinners to be packaged for take-out. She nodded and bowed, taking the plates with her as she left the alcove.

Tôshirô waited until the woman was gone before he licked his fingers and pinched out the single candlelight in the centerpiece glass holder. The light in the inlet of greenery eclipsed slightly, not quite dark, but far less than bright.

He looked to Momo sitting near him still, her eyes wide with the dim lighting. His voice was void of its usual weightiness. "Do you think Kyouraku was right in matching us, Momo?"

"He's been around for a long time, Shiro-chan; he's seen a lot of people." Her voice had dropped lower.

"It doesn't mean he knows what he's doing," he said, unable to let the comment pass. "Bed-wetter."

She pouted a little at him. "Can you ever think of me other than a bed-wetter, Shiro-chan?"

He didn't have to think about it, but he pretended to. "I guess so."

She nodded, making the scent of peachy perfume bloom stronger, and then looked down as his hand closed over her fingers on the table unlike they had when they were children, this time firmly, possessively. She looked back up at him, finding him nearer, his face inches from hers, lips faintly touching hers.

Barely had they touched than the server returned, a muted gasp escaping her in the dimly lit inlet, eyes wide on the shinigami in the booth.

"My apologies, Captain! Vice-Captain!" She hurriedly placed the basket of bento boxes on the table and dashed out of the alcove, bringing a ripple of comments from the dining room.

"Damn her timing," Tôshirô mumbled, dropping Momo's hand and getting out from behind the table. "Come on," he said when she remained immobile. He snagged the basket handle and nodded to her. "Let's get out of here."

Momo replaced her look of surprised anticipation with a wide smile and scooted out from the booth. "Let's go, Shiro-chan."

* * *

**_Thanks for reading!_**

**_Poll is up!_**


	34. Mail Call

Monday morning was the usual at Eighth Division. Nanao collected the Division's mail from the central post before arriving at her desk in Eighth's already warm offices, sighing in the early morning breeze that found its way in through the open windows. She knew her captain was already there, and probably sleeping, as indicated by the level wave of spiritual pressure emanating from further inside the building.

She set the mail on her desk and sorted through it for a moment. Correspondence from Second Division, bearing Soi Fon's personal seal, a few notes from assorted other shinigami, replies to a few forms she'd submitted to oversight expenditures. Her eyes narrowed behind her glasses, recalling which forms she'd submitted recently.

While she wouldn't open anything from another captain, Nanao had Shunsui's permission to handle all other incoming mail. She separated the pieces of mail into a few stacks, carefully setting aside the letter from Soi Fon, and then looked with new regard at the last item she'd overlooked initially.

She held up the letter folded into thirds and fastened with First Division's unmistakable seal in red wax. Cold washed over her mind, her fingers seeming to grow numb on the paper, not because she knew it was from First, but because she recognized a matching questionnaire when she saw one, even from the reverse of the form.

Anything from First Division unsettled her. She began to mentally make excuses. She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Vice-Captain Sasakibe was in last week," she reminded herself, taking a deep breath. "A little late, but maybe Captain can match him. There aren't many female shinigami left."

She set it to one side and opened the expense report reply. Her eyes quickly deciphered the formal wording until she got to the last paragraph of the short correspondence.

"'Your expenditures for the last month regarding the Soul Society Canteen bill has been paid in full and will remain so for a further thirty days,'" she murmured, reading aloud. She smiled. _So he's found a way to do it_, she thought. Her eyes dropped to the bottom of the page where a sentence in jerky handwriting appeared.

"'Not perfect, but not too poorly done, Shunsui,'" Yamamoto had written.

It was as close to a compliment as her captain would get, she knew. He hadn't been forthcoming with the details, but Nanao had seen enough and could guess the rest. She'd heard the stories about Shunsui and Yamamoto observing the matches at table Eight, and had gotten enough offhand hints from her captain to know. She breathed easier, gathering the mail into two stacks and heading down the hall to his office.

Shunsui wasn't there, but she found him in the day room, in his usual manner, lying on the takama with the morning sun stretching across his face.

_Probably too lazy to move_, she thought, watching his eye twitch slightly as the sun hit it squarely just beneath the brim of his hat's shadow despite being tilted down. She paused in the doorway, the mail in her hand clutched to her chest, her fingers pressing on the wax seal from First Division. How he slept so soundly so often, she didn't know.

She crossed the room and knelt at the side of the takama, watching him snore softly, thinking, as other times, it was a sound she'd gotten accustomed to, and one that she probably shouldn't have, considering he was her captain.

She saw his eye twitch again, a faint grin at his lips, and knew he was awake. She sat straighter. "I know you're not sleeping, Captain," she said with mild irritation, seeing his grin take hold. "What if I had something important to tell you? You're in here sleeping like you don't have a Division to maintain."

He looked at her, enjoying the slight blush on her cheeks he knew she'd blame on the sunlight. "Do you, Nanao? Something important?"

She couldn't quite make herself chance it, but settled for other words. "Every Friday morning you're out of sorts and it puts us behind for the day." She'd meant to say every _morning_, but somehow the word _Friday_ had come out. Before she could correct herself, he spoke.

"Ah, a trend I see continuing... But it's Monday, Nanao." He pushed the hat back farther, studying her closer. "Just Fridays?"

She dropped the mail on the floor beside him. "Nearly every other day, too, it seems." She busily leafed through the mail. "Some of this is important. You have items from First and Second Divisions."

The humor left his face, eyes growing rounder. "Ah, so we have." He sat up and sighed, looking down at her as she watched him. She looked to the mail and gathered it quickly. "I suppose it can't be avoided. Oh, we have a few matches left to arrange."

She sighed and sat back on her ankles, hands in her lap with the mail. "There aren't many applications left, Captain. I'm afraid you've done your job and those who are left have already had one match."

He frowned at the piece of mail he could see beneath her hands, the red wax unmistakable. "Not everyone has had a failed match yet, sweet Nanao."

He stood up before she could comment and gently took her elbow as he rose, ushering her out of the room. "I know we have a few more, and there's always your application, vice-captain."

She had little choice but to take his escort down the hall to his office, fumbling to keep the mail from slipping out of her grasp. "But I don't want a match, Shunsui. I don't..."

He turned a grin on her as they rounded his desk and he pulled her chair closer to his own. "I insist. Nanao."

"Captain," she corrected herself.

He sat down and pulled her into her chair next to him, jerking it closer when he deemed her too far away. He took the mail from her and placed it on the desk before them, his arm automatically draping across the back of her chair.

"Let's see what we have." He opened his desk drawer and pulled out the few unmatched applications. "I've been thinking about several of these, Nanao. Tell me what you think."

She put a hand on the mail on the desk, her mind running in many directions, but making an effort to focus on what she considered the primary issue. "Shouldn't you look at Captain Soi Fon's letter? It might be important."

He nodded, sifting through the few applications he'd taken from the drawer. "Go ahead and open it, Nanao. It's her withdrawal from our services."

She looked sharply at him even as her hand found the letter from Second Division. "You sound certain about that."

He grinned wider, fingers nudging her shoulder. "I have it on good confidence that she is quite a Go player, and has sufficed herself with that for now."

She raised an eyebrow at him, tempted to smile at his pleased look. "Do you?"

"Oh, yes."

She found the letter and broke open the Second Division wax seal and read the short note from Soi Fon. He was right. She gave his best charming smile one of her own before giggling. "You didn't match them, Captain. Remember?"

Most of the smile fell from Shunsui's face. "Hmm, you're right. I forgot that part." He set four applications on the desk. "About these ... How about these two?" He put a finger on two forms in turn. "Not opposites, but not alike, either."

"She's been matched twice," Nanao reminded him. "Neither had second dates."

"That's why we need to set her up with someone, show her we're not giving up." He tapped another form, sighing. "And we owe him a decent match. Hmm, with someone durable."

Nanao looked to each of the forms, her thoughts straying. "I suppose it could work."

He nodded. "I say they give it a try." He picked another form up and examined it. "These two," he tapped another form, leaning to the desk, "in theory should work, but I'm not sure. They're already friends. Maybe it would have worked by now if it was going to work at all."

"Maybe they don't see it. What's right in front of them," she added carefully, her voice softening as she watched him study the applications.

He looked back to her, gaze lingering on the solemn expression on her face. "It happens, you know," he said. "Friends of decades becoming invisible to each other."

She nodded, feeling his hand move to her shoulder, wishing she could ask the more pertinent question she'd been wanting to ask for four days now. Their time together had been scarce recently, and now that they were alone, the words wouldn't come out in the order she wanted to say them.

She wanted her glasses to steam up.

But that wasn't how she wanted to say it aloud. There had to be a better way.

He glanced back to the forms. "Shall we match them, Nanao?"

"Yes."

"Good."

He placed the forms to one side and pulled the stack of unmatched ones closer. He set one to his left. "Soi Fon is no longer interested. If that was hers, which I believe it was." He read the next form. "Same for Juushirou." Another form to the left. "This one has declined our services. So has this one. I wonder why." He set Gin and Ulquiorra's applications to the left. "This one is a pompous bastard -- sorry, sweet Nanao -- and doesn't deserve a match." He pointed to a line on the form. "' ..._world domination and soul destruction?'_ What kind of a description is that? Someone's idea of a joke." He set the form to the side, and then four more. "These have all agreed to second dates." Six more forms to the left. "These all are, shall we say, happy with their matches?"

"But I'm not sure those are matches," she finally said, watching his smile dim only slightly. "Compatible, and certainly friendly with each other, but we can't say matched. Not for certain."

He nodded, sitting back looking to her, the brim of his hat hovering over her. "It's a start, Nanao. The rest is up to them."

She nodded, swallowing as he looked to her eyes before his gaze paused on her lips. She looked quickly away and sat forward, her nerve lagging as her pulse jumped. She put an unsteady hand on the small pile of forms. "You've done well."

He sighed and sat forward. "I think we have. A few bumps, but otherwise...I'd say yes."

Nanao made her hand steady as she placed it on the mail. "You have something from First Division, too, Captain."

A pained look leased his face, which confused her, and he was none too eager as she waited for him to address the letter. He finally took his arm from the seat back and reached for the mail.

She watched him crack open the red wax seal, her curiosity leaning toward the First Division's lieutenant. "Oh, we got an approval for the expenses Form 218."

"Oh? Good. I figured we would after last Saturday," he said matter-of-factly. He opened the application reluctantly.

"Why after last ...?" Nanao's voice trailed off as she read the paper in Shunsui's hands as he looked at it. Before thinking, she snatched it away from him and stood up abruptly, violet eyes widening. She whirled to face him, shocked at his lack of surprise.

"Captain-General Yamamoto?!"

"Aye, that's what it says, Nanao," he said with a sigh, sitting back in his seat, arm going back to the second chair's back.

"We can't match him!"

He shrugged, tilting his hat back, nearly able to feel the sudden heat of shock emanate from her. "I know it's a challenge, Nanao, but --"

"We can't! It's impossible, Shunsui!" She whisked the form eyelevel before her, the horror renewing when she read it again. "This is suicide!" She waved the application in his face, leaning over him, one hand braced on his thigh for balance as she neared, the form inches from his nose. "We can't do it! No one can!"

He grinned wider at her proximity as she lowered the from, detecting the faint sandalwood scent she wore, her eyes large, lips close enough that he could feel her breath on him. His hand moved from the chair back to hers on his leg, covering it in a light grasp as she remained near. "It might take a while, sweet Nanao, but we have to try to match him."

Her eyes dropped to his hand, her hand, his leg, and then she quickly straightened, turning her back on him as her cheeks flushed bright red.

"Nanao," he said when she remained immobile for a moment, head lowered over the application she pretended to read. "Nanao."

When she made no answer, he tugged gently on the back of her shirt. She slowly turned to face him, the application in her tight clasp.

For a moment he was caught in the tangle of emotions in her eyes. She looked almost angry, but it wasn't the same smolder he'd seen before, like the times he'd said something a little too insensitive about Rangiku, or something too revealing about Juushirou, but another level of spark. "Don't be angry, Nanao," he said, fingers catching the edge of her sleeve, pulling her arm until her hand lowered from the form, her eyes softening. "We can match him."

She shook her head, and then they both looked to the doorway, feeling the same familiar reiatsu.

"I'm not angry," she said in a quiet voice, not looking to him.

"That's Captain Ukitake," Shunsui said, sighing as he looked from the doorway to the sleeve hem in his fingers, wishing she'd turn her attention to him. "Nanao..."

When she looked back to him her eyes were clouded, unreadable, and she was making an effort at composure, and succeeding. "I'll make tea, Captain."

* * *

**Next Match: Must Love Tattoos**

**_Poll is up!_**


	35. Must Love Tattoos

The next time Renji went to the Living World on leisure he was more hopeful. No unpredictability this time.

This time he had a coupon.

He made his way down the Karakura Town sidewalk to where Orihime Inoue lived, ignoring the passersby that gave him snooty looks on the sunny streets. He brushed past them, having become accustomed to the elitist mentality in his captain's company.

He found the apartment building he knew she lived in and took the stairs to her floor. Much better than his Soul Society match, he thought for the third time in the last hour. He knew it was Orihime, too, because Nanao had told him.

The vice-captain of Ninth Division probably hadn't meant to tell him who his match was when he cornered her at the lieutenant's meeting that morning with questions about the invitation in his post box, but she had. Maybe she felt bad about his last match and gave up the information out of reassuring courtesy, or maybe it was something else. She'd been uncharacteristically preoccupied during the whole meeting, even when Omaeda had suggested arranging a pie-eating contest among the Divisions in the near future. Normally she would have shot down his suggestion with a mere cool stare.

He got to the staircase to the next level and paused momentarily to make sure everything was intact and presentable. He didn't want to repeat Izuru's malfunction. His gray shirt was buttoned most of the way up and jeans zipped, and thus assured all was well, he rounded the corner to the next hall only to get slammed into full throttle by Orihime coming in the opposite direction.

"Sorry!" she said with a quick bow after pushing away from him before even seeing who he was. She took a step back and looked up at him, smiling with recognition. "Hi, Abarai-san."

"Hi, Orihime," he said, grinning as she smoothed her yellow shirt over her pink skirt. "You're in a hurry."

She nodded eagerly, settling the thin strap of her small purse over the cap sleeve at her shoulder. "I have a match at Shingo's Surf and Turf."

"Yeah?" He reached into his back pocket and held up his coupon, watching her brown eyes open wider.

She tore open her purse and found her own coupon, smile now accompanied by a slight blush. "Me, too." She frowned warily. "Together, right?"

He hadn't thought about it like that before. Nanao hadn't said anything about more than one match at the same eatery. He looked back to the coupon. "Table Sixteen?"

She glanced at her coupon and nodded. "Sixteen. I guess that's us."

"Good."

She nodded again. "Good."

They headed back into the late afternoon sidewalk traffic and walked the six blocks to the designated restaurant, conversation skipping from Izuru to the weather to her next break in the school year. When they got to the restaurant, Renji had misgivings about the match. No sooner had he and Orihime stepped through the doors and into the lobby than he detected Rukia, and Ichigo, farther inside.

He stood at the lobby entryway into the dining room as Orihime tapped on the decorative aquarium glass side housing several enormous goldfish. His eyes moved over the occupants seated at the tables, scowling as he found Rukia's dark hair hunkered over Table Fourteen, with Ichigo's orange hair across from her.

He muttered the words on his mind as he turned back to Orihime, who hadn't noticed the other couple yet. He caught her arm as her attention left the fish and she stood on tiptoe to see into the dining room past the divider of potted ferns edging the lobby.

"It looks crowded," he said, turning her away from the other larger room. "No empty tables."

She tried to see over his shoulder. "But we have a reservation for Table Sixteen."

He'd forgotten that. "Well, it's still crowded. Noisy, too."

She looked more disappointed than suspicious at him. "You don't want to have dinner with me?"

"What? Hell, no. I mean hell yes, but not here," he said, ushering her out through one of the double doors of the restaurant to the sidewalk. They turned south, deeper into town. "It's so loud in there."

"Are you sure that's it?" Her voice was more feeble than accusatory.

He figured it was a good lie. "Yup." He looked around the streets for something to say next, his eyes resting on the tip of the Ferris wheel in the distance at the park. He looked back to her. "Have you been to the park carnival yet?"

Her face brightened as she nodded. "Tatsuki-chan and I went with my neighbor's little kids last weeks. Just kiddy rides and games. It ends after this weekend."

He nodded slowly. "They have food there, right?"

She nodded.

"Let's go there."

"The coupons won't be good there, Abarai-san."

"I've got money. My treat." He nodded to the crosswalk at the corner. "And call me Renji."

She giggled a little. "Okay."

The park was swarming with people of all ages, and the lines before the rides were extraordinarily long for a Tuesday, which had been designated half-price day for children under the age of eleven. Orihime and Renji waded through the thronging bustle of guests, clowns and jugglers, and power lines crossing between food stands, skill games, and croppings of dizzying rides garishly painted. Loud music blared from every ride, each with a different although equally horrendous battle-worn sound of too much bass and tinny-ness.

Smells of western style carnival food mingled with standard Japanese fare, spilled crushed ice drinks and toppled ice cream cones dotting the walkways, everywhere people bumping and nudging each other, calling over the other guests, and many more laughing and chatting loudly into their cell phones in attempts at finding each other.

Renji looked around at the mayhem, both surprised and taken aback by the sheer volume of people and sound. "You took children here?" he said loudly to Orihime as they found a spot off the walkway out of the main traffic.

She nodded, eyes lighting up as a mechanical octopus ride moved its tentacles in dips and heaves with couples stuck screaming together in the bucket seats at the ends. "It wasn't as busy then," she said over the noise. "But still loud."

"What do you want to eat?"

They took a moment to look around at the food stalls, many with long lines.

She sighed. "Do you like cotton candy?"

He looked to where she was pointing at a food stand that's awning was shaped like a pink cloud with the words _Cotton Candy and Hot Dogs_ waving from a banner in red and yellow. "Never had it. Do you want some?"

She nodded. "They have hot dogs, too."

They got in line for the food stand, Renji returning a few looks at the youth punks sizing him up before they turned a different sort of attention on Orihime. Renji nudged her shoulder forward in line as the people in front of them moved up. "You want a hot dog and the cotton stuff?"

She looked to the menu board on the easel at the food stand counter, thinking for a moment before deciding. "Just cotton candy, Renji-kun," she said, smiling more at the informality. "I have money, too."

"Keep it. This is on me."

They got their food moments later, Orihime with her cloud of pink cotton candy and Renji with a hot dog and each a soft drink. Renji had watched what the other people did to their food, and squirted a liberal amount of mustard and ketchup at the condiment counter on the hot dog he got, and then watched in horror as Orihime made a swirl design with the mustard squirt bottle over the top of her cotton candy.

He glanced around, but saw no one else decorating their cotton candy with the yellow stuff, and decided everything Rukia and Rangiku had told him about Orihime's dietary habits might be true.

She saw his attention and held it up to him, smiling wider. "Want some?"

"Uh, no, that's okay."

They moved into the thick of the crowd, balancing eating and avoiding collisions and a few attempts at speaking to each other. After several moments they headed for the less traveled section of the park where the games and vendors stalls were set up.

Here the noise of the crowds, rides, music, and clowns was replaced by game workers luring people into playing the assorted games of chance and skill. They wandered through, watching from a distance at one booth where Nemu was throwing darts at balloons pegged to a wall, popping each with precision accuracy while Uryû stood nearby, his arms full of stuffed animals _someone_ had won.

Renji looked down as Orihime took another big bite of mustard-topped cotton candy, her eyes on the crowds around them. He finished the last of his hot dog and looked to a familiar booming voice that was goading one of the guests playing at a booth.

"Ha! It's Don Kanonji," Orihime said, pointing and laughing to where the absurd-looking spirit hunter was balanced on a narrow seat over a tank of water, clad in a purple tank-trunks swimsuit, taunting Chad who was winding up to throw a ball at the paddle for the dunk tank.

They watched as the small yellow ball hit the paddle squarely and Kanonji plummeted into the tank of water, sputtering his signature "_Bwahahaha_" as he went under.

"I hate that guy," Renji said under his breath, enjoying the man's submersion.

Orihime popped the last of the wispy candy into her mouth. "He's just a clown with good ratings."

They moved into the next row of games and vendors tables, avoiding the man trying to sell snakes and the woman telling fortunes and moved on to a quieter row. Orihime looked up at the banner over one canopied table where a section was partly curtained off from the public. She tried to see past the teen boys hanging around the edge of the table, pointing to the designs under the glass display case.

Renji watched for a moment, hearing the remarks the youths made about the designs, and glanced down to see Orihime watching him intently. She looked away quickly, and then back to him.

"Do tattoos hurt?"

He chuckled, shrugging. "A little, for a while."

She looked to his neck at the black marks running along one side. "Is it worth it?" She blushed a little as her eyes went to beyond the table where a heavily tattooed man sat on a stool hunched over another man behind the curtain. "I mean, you have a lot of them, Renji-kun."

"Everybody's got different reasons for getting them," he said offhand, watching her slurp down the last of her soft drink. "Why? Do you want to get one?"

The last bit of orange soda backed up her throat at his suggestion and she sputtered it out, turning her head in time to avoid spraying orange on the boy in front of them looking at designs on the table.

"Geez, sorry, Orihime," Renji said, embarrassed at startling her. He patted her back as she coughed, making the teens in front of them step away.

"Just ... surprised ... me," she gasped between coughs, taking a deep breath. "That's all. Sorry." She caught her breath finally and they moved away from the vendor.

"You wouldn't want some nasty oaf like that guy touching your skin anyway," Renji said, tossing a glance at the man holding the buzzing ink-filled needle to his client at the curtain.

Orihime smiled at him. "I already have one."

Renji stopped walking, staring at her as she took a few steps until she turned around when she noticed him lagging. "You have a _tattoo_?"

She nodded, going back to him, her smile turning teasing. She pushed back the cap sleeve of her yellow shirt to expose a miniature _Hello Kitty_ in black holding a pink heart. He looked back at her, shock claiming his face, unsure what the proper response was, as he was usually on the other side of the tattoo.

Then she giggled, and pushed his arm playfully when he didn't move. She held her shoulder closer, pointing at the mark. "It's washable. Not real. I babysat the neighbor's kids today after school and we did temporary tattoos." She licked a finger and rubbed it over the kitten design, but it remained fixed. "They come off with baby oil."

"Temporary..." He shook his head slowly at her smile.

She laughed. "You thought it was real."

"Well, yeah, I thought..." He gave her smile half a grin. "Very cute, Orihime."

She giggled again, and they continued on down the row of vendors.

Over the course of the next hour they collected more dinner, including a tub of caramel corn they shared, a few mini dora yaki folded for easier eating, a sampling of pizza slices, and another round of soft drinks as they headed to the outskirts of the park for the walk home.

The street lights were flickering on in the early evening, the air still warm, promising rain later that night, and Orihime and Renji made the leisure walk to her apartment with small talk that came easily. In the hall at her apartment Renji paused as she unlocked door, watching the overhead lights from the hall ceiling play auburn and sunset colors over her hair. She turned and looked at him, smiling when his eyes went to her arm where _Hello Kitty_ was in hiding.

"That was fun, Renji-kun," she said, fingers on the doorframe, nervously tapping. "Do ... would you like to come in?"

He was already shaking his head as the pink flush crossed her cheeks. "What do you say to a second date? Do it right, with dinner and all?" He grinned as she smiled and nodded.

"We've still got the coupons," she said and then frowned. "Maybe they won't be good for any other day."

"Forget the coupon, Orihime." He nodded. "I'll see you this weekend? Dinner, and maybe we'll swing by the park before they take down the games. Win you a _Hello Kitty_ plushy."

She nodded.

"Good. See you then."

"Bye, Renji-kun." She opened the door and slipped inside and closed it behind her.

Renji turned back down the hall and descended the stairs, feeling strangely happy, a little self-conscious, and expectant at the same time.

Maybe Shunsui was better at this matching thing second time around, he thought.

Much better than his first match.

* * *

**Next Match: More Than Omake**

**_Thanks for reading! Two chapters left._**


	36. More Than Omake

A ripple of chuckles followed Rangiku to table Eight that Wednesday evening, most from deeper voices, a few from feminine ones. She ignored them, able to pinpoint most of them to a name. Especially Ikkaku, who practically hooted when he wasn't cackling.

She swept back the heavy strand of ivy intertwined with eucalyptus that had fallen across the entryway to the table, finding it empty. She sighed, more expectant of the match than she realized. She hung the foliage back to the side and slid behind the table, scooting to the center in hopes of giving her match an equal chance at immediate chumminess.

She set her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her palm. She wasn't sure opting for a third match was such a good idea: the pickings were getting slim. Izuru was absurdly happy with his new _friend_ in Kiyone, and her captain now found all sorts of excuses to personally deliver paperwork to Fifth Division.

She sifted the names of viable shinigami males through her mind. Ikkaku and his pretty buddy Yumichika were already at table Eleven when she'd passed, and Shunsui was sitting alone at another table, giving her a nod and chuckle when she saw him. She hadn't lingered to talk, but made a direct line to table Eight. It didn't look to her like he was making much progress in his own pursuits at table Eight, not from what she'd heard.

She blew a strand of strawberry-blonde hair out of her face as she ran farther down the list of eligible shinigami males, her mind coming to a screeching halt when she got to Hanatarou's name.

"It better not be Hanatarou," she mumbled, then raised her eyes to the alcove's entry as Shuuhei Hisagi looked in.

He grinned upon seeing her, laughing as he entered. "Hey, it's about time, Rangiku."

She smiled as he sat beside her, a contagious grin on his face. "Well, well. This isn't bad at all."

"Glad you agree." He looked around at the draped greenery encompassing the table inlet, nodding. "Not bad, not bad for a captain's table. Ours is just ferny things. All lost on Tousen."

She nodded and left off speaking as the gray-robed server entered the alcove, bowing to each of them.

"Good evening, vice-captains," the girl said, setting two menus on the table. "May I take your orders or would you like to consider the menus?"

Shuuhei looked to Rangiku. "What do you want?"

She picked up one of the menus and opened it, glancing over the items quickly. "I'll take an order of your finger food sampler with extra sauces and a large bottle of dai-ginjo."

"Same here, and an order of umeboshi," Shuuhei said, grinning at her order as they handed back the menus. The server bowed and left. "You're going to make Captain Kyouraku pay heavy tonight, aren't you?"

She nodded smiling. "Why not? This was his idea."

He shrugged, sitting back in the booth and stretching an arm across the back of the seat behind her. "So what's this about giving up on blond men?"

She lifted an eyebrow. "That wasn't supposed to be heard at the reading circle, Shuuhei. Momo was tipsy."

He nodded. "That's when you learn the most out of people. In vino veritas. That's not a haiku."

She shook her head, bringing with the movement the scent of almonds and heliotrope. "Oh, I know what it means." She looked to the glass candle holder where the light of three candles danced in shimmering wicks. "Izuru was always good for news when he was drunk."

He nodded. "He's been keeping to himself lately." He looked to the doorway, hearing Ikkaku's low grumble of a tone followed by Yumichika's response. "Actually, Izuru hasn't been alone in keeping to himself. It's been good to see him preoccupied with something other than his moods."

She nodded, smiling. "He's not a fun drunk after the first hour." Her fingers tapped on the table in unison. "Fortunately that first hour he's pretty lubed and spills secrets. Lots of good stuff there, Shuuhei."

"Yeah? You got the goods on someone?"

Her smile widened, watching his eyes. "Kinda heavy on the cologne, aren't you?"

Part of his grin dropped. "Too much?"

"No. I like it." She sniffed, nodding. "Woodsy, musk, slightly coniferous."

He huffed. "You can't smell coniferous, Rangiku."

"Sure you can. Sprucey."

He wasn't sure, but he could swear she was laughing at him. "You're highly fragrant yourself. What're you wearing? Something from him?" He shook his head, immediately regretting the words. "I shouldn't have said that, Rangiku."

Her eyes narrowed only momentarily before her hand gave him a pat on his cheek. "No, it's not from him." She took a closer look at the lines running down his cheek, her eyes softening on the scars, fingers remaining light on his skin. "I never realized how close that came to your eye, Shuuhei." Her finger paused on the bottom of one line. "You were lucky."

He nodded as her hand left his face and was about to say something more heartfelt when she took up the conversation.

"Speaking of drunken Izuru, what's this about a snowball fight fantasy?" she asked, giggling at his surprise.

Before he could answer the server returned with a tray laden with food and bottles. She began to unload the items on the table as Shuuhei stared at Rangiku, who smiled mischievously at him.

They watched the table be set for a moment before Rangiku's knee nudged Shuuhei's beneath the table.

"You want to get this for take-out? Find somewhere less conspicuous?" she asked. "This spot has become something of a spotlight lately. The dining room is always crowded at eight-thirty now."

He nodded, grinning, and looked to the server who was doing her best not to eavesdrop as she unloaded her tray. "Would you please pack this up to go?" he asked her.

She nodded. "Yes, Vice-Captain Hisagi."

* * *

The Seireitei streets were warm and near dark, with little foot traffic as Rangiku and Shuuhei made their way down them, their dinner in a basket tote at his arm. Their early exit from the Canteen was met by a brief flux of hushed chatter, not the least of which came from table Eleven.

It was one reason Rangiku was anxious to leave, another being the balmy night too serene to waste indoors. They walked for a while, heading to what she realized to be Ninth Division, which actually was closer than her own Division.

When they got there it was late evening and Shuuhei's modest quarters dark and quiet, as was most of the Ninth Division grounds. He turned on a light as they entered the main room to his quarters, quickly looking around at the place, deciding it wasn't as much a shamble as he recalled leaving it.

Rangiku surveyed the room, which was similar to most other vice-captains' quarters she'd visited, nodding at the personal touches like the guitar and tall bookcase and a few other trinkets that made the room distinctively Hisagi. "Not too bad," she said. "I thought it would be more lived-in looking."

"It usually is."

He set the basket of take-out on the small table at the foot of the futon, but Rangiku was already heading to the back door that led out to the porch overlooking the woods that backed up to Ninth Division's boundary. She glanced back to him.

"Let's eat out here. Do you mind?"

They took a few moments to set up dinner on the wide wooden deck of the porch, the moon and stars the only light except for what little spread out from the single inside lamp. They settled at the porch's single step to the grass between the posts that supported the rail that ran around the entire deck.

They each found their orders and arranged the dishes and bowls for easier dining, and Rangiku poured the potent saké into two cups and handed him one. "To deserters and idiots," she offered, holding up her cup.

He nodded, tapping her cup with his.

They downed their drinks and she poured more, feeling him looking at her, and decided not to ignore the attention.

"We always drink at my place or Izuru's," she finally said, dipping a fried shrimp into the small dish of ponzu sauce. "Why never yours?"

He shrugged. "Because mine is usually such a mess, I guess. Izuru always wants to be close to home when he's smashed, and you always invite us over."

She nodded, sighing, looking out over the dark yard and woods. "But you've got the best view."

He chuckled, following her gaze. "How can you tell, Rangiku? It's dark."

She shrugged, inhaling deeply. "Can't you smell it? All that wisteria and lilac. Tenth isn't bad, but nothing like your division."

He'd never really thought about it before. "Yeah, I guess."

She shook her head, gesturing to where the woods met the yard. "All that lovely floral -- it's got to be beautiful in the daylight -- wasted on a bachelor. You'd think you could use it to your advantage, Shuuhei. Izuru's got all weeds and brambles out the back of his quarters to look at. Haven't you ever noticed?"

He thought back on the times they'd spent drinking on the back porch of the Third Division lieutenant's quarters. "I never realized that."

She gave him a sideways look. "You men. If you took a few moments to look at things from a woman's perspective you'd see a lot of things differently."

He was quiet for a few moments as they lent their attention to the food. "I know you've got pines out the back of your place, Rangiku," he said after a few moments. "Those tall ones that canopy way up high and lay a bed of needles so thick on the ground that nothing grows." He grinned at her look of surprise. "Didn't think I noticed, did you?"

She smiled. "No, I didn't."

He cleared his throat, unsure he wanted to clarify his next statement. "About that snowball fight fantasy," he said, "what did you hear?"

"You really want to know?"

He frowned, looking down to the cup of saké. "Probably not, but I want to know how much hell to beat out of Kira."

A smile stretched slowly across her coral lips, eyes on him until he looked at her. "I believe it was something about a snowball fight that had turned serious, and I'm the damsel in distress. _'Oh, save me, Shuuhei, from the evil Kira. Oh, Shuuhei, can you dry me off? I'm all wet from the snowballs._' Sound familiar?"

"That's not how I said it," he growled, eyes narrowing on her.

"Hmm, well, something like that. He was pretty drunk when he told me," she said, enjoying his sudden scowl.

"That was supposed to be kept in confidence," he finally said, frowning more at her. "Damn Kira. What's he telling you for?"

"Oh, Shuuhei, I think it's cute." She ribbed his side with her elbow. "Come on, we all have moments of fantasy."

"Yeah, but they're not supposed to be blabbed all over Soul Society." He glared down their plates of food. "Just wait until I get my hands on Kira."

"He was drunk. Probably doesn't even know he told me." She filled their cups again with saké, shaking her head at the dark pout on his face. "Shuuhei, it's cute. Don't be mad."

"Hell, now you make it sound like a new recruit's crush."

She sighed. "I shouldn't have told you."

"You shouldn't have known at all."

"Oh, Shuuhei, it's flattering. I like it."

He glanced at her, watching her drink her saké in a swallow. "Yeah?"

She nodded. "Yeah." He watched her for a moment as she turned to lean back on the rail post behind her, her eyes going to her empty cup. "That stuff's a lot stronger than our usual brand."

His eyes dropped to his own empty cup, and he took a moment to refill both cups before looking back to her. "Are you really looking to move on or are you here because the Women's Association was obligated to fill out two forms each?"

"A little of both, I guess." This time her smile was more forced. They both finished their cups of saké, and she turned to sit beside him on the porch step facing the woods. "What about you? Did Momo coerce you into submitting a questionnaire or were you hoping to get matched up with Isane?"

He chuckled and leaned to her side, pouring their cups full from the bottle again, the finger food getting cold behind them. "No, I wanted a match."

She nodded, looking at the moon's reflection in the pale liquid in the cup. "So, Shunsui and this matching stuff aside, what do you really think, Shuuhei? You and me."

"It's worth a try, don't you think?"

She looked down to where his bare arm rested against her black sleeve. "I admit, I am curious if you live up to all that fan fiction about you."

He grinned, tapping her cup with his. "Then here's to a second date."

She smiled and tapped his cup back. "To a second date, Shuuhei."

* * *

**Final Match: Thursday Evening**

**_Thanks to all who read and reviewed this story!_**


	37. Thursday Evening

The scorching hot day that blistered the Seireitei streets dissolved into a mild, sultry evening that Thursday, offering not much relief to the heat except for a few gray clouds that promised rain later that night.

The weather mattered little to the man sitting at table Eight, alone, as he had been for the last few weeks, his hopeful gaze on the alcove opening of eucalyptus and ivy that swagged from one side of the entry. Shunsui Kyouraku was a patient man, which some people mistook for sheer laziness, but he preferred to think of it as being extremely contemplative on matters.

But patience wasn't getting him anywhere lately, he decided, pushing his hat back a few inches on his head so he had a better view of the alcove opening. Not that there was anything to see.

"Not yet," he murmured aloud, cheering himself for only a few moments. He twisted the cup of tea in his fingers, eyes going to what he could see of the Soul Society Canteen dining room. His friend Juushirou was at table Two with Soi Fon, not a match he'd arranged, but they seemed content with their weekly games of Go, as were Kurotsuchi and Isane with their collaborative efforts on articles yet to appear in the _Seireitei Communication_. He couldn't see the table, but he knew Izuru Kira was making good use of table Three to entertain Kiyone for the evening.

"Now there's a fast-worker," Shunsui said aloud, sighing. "Didn't see _that_ coming."

Table Eight was set with a large pot of tea, a dish of sweet bean jelly, and what he knew to be his lieutenant's favorite rice thins on another plate, and no saké in sight. The last factor was the hardest, he decided.

He rethought the absence of his favorite beverage, and changed the absence of _her_ rather than saké to being the hardest factor in sitting alone. Again.

After all, he could always -- as he usually did do lately -- take a bottle or two of saké home with him for company.

Perhaps he'd gone about it wrong all these years. All his other matches -- well, not quite all -- but a good majority had found ways to secure that second date. He had the restaurant coupon bills to prove it. But he couldn't even attract the affections of a woman he thought he clearly knew, whom he had studied so intently.

"Of course, she could _not_ be interested in me," he said to the cup of tea. "I thought laying it all out in ink would bring some sort of response." The tea cup didn't seem to care. Neither did the rice thins. "All it's brought me was that uneasy silence at the office lately. I'm afraid I have my answer."

He drank down the tea, and was about to forego the pot in favor of ordering a bottle of saké when the entry greenery shifted, and he looked up to see Nanao timidly looking back at him.

The fingers of one hand were clutched at her opposite arm, just below her lieutenant's insignia, but what caught Shunsui's attention most was the malleable quality in her violet eyes. She smiled a little, cautiously, remaining at the entryway.

He was on his feet in a second and stepped away from the table, an immediate smile across his half-shaven face that brought a blush and more of a smile from her. "Ah, my sweet Nanao, it's a pleasure to see you've come," he said, extending a hand and ushering her to the table.

"Thank you, Shunsui," she said hesitantly. She sat on the booth cushion and slid farther behind it, an awkward movement that was lessened when he didn't crowd too close to her. She looked up at him, as she had a thousand times before, and then to the table settings, her expression falling a little. "Oh, are you alone? Is someone else already --"

"What? No." He looked to the dishes and tea service. "I was hoping for your presence tonight. I wanted to be prepared."

She opened her mouth only to close it when her words failed, and looked down to where he was pouring her a cup of tea.

"It's not too hot, but we'll get fresh when the server comes back," he said, setting the cup before her.

"Thank you," she murmured, fingers closing around the white ceramic cup, summoning her resolve. "Shunsui, I'm sorry to keep you waiting, but I just last week read the letter you gave me."

His eyes opened wider. "Just last week, Nanao? So late?"

Her gaze dropped to the tea in the cup as she sighed. "I'm sorry, Captain. Shunsui," she said, smiling a little more. "Everything you said in it, all the things about ..." She made herself look at him, her voice weakening as her pulse clipped quicker. "Is it really like that? I don't want to be nothing more than the little fish that got away."

His face fell at her interpretation, and his arm settled around her shoulders lightly, feeling her stiffen slightly. He eased his hand at her shoulder, gaze holding hers. "Those days of empty pursuit are over for me, Nanao. They have been for a long time. Can a man not outlive his reckless youth?"

She nodded, blushing anew, blaming it on the feeble heat from the single candle's short flame in its glass dome at the centerpiece. She was about to say more when they both sensed another powerful presence, one that made everyone in the dining room hush to a lapse in conversation.

Shunsui and Nanao looked up as Captain-General Yamamoto filled the inlet's entry, his wizened eyes on them. Nanao sucked in a quick breath of surprise as Shunsui stood to the booth's side at the elder's appearance.

"Captain-General, you honor us," he said, bowing slightly.

"Hmm, Captain Kyouraku, Vice-Captain Ise," Yamamoto said, nodding to Nanao, who was still seated, mostly because of Shunsui's hand that had moved to her opposite shoulder, keeping her in her seat. "I'll join you."

To both Nanao and Shunsui's shocked frustration, Yamamoto sat at the table across from Shunsui, who was still on his feet, staring at the General.

Yamamoto looked to the younger captain, enjoying his unusual loss of composure. He gestured to the booth cushion beside Nanao. "Off your feet, Kyouraku. Be civil."

Shunsui sat down next to Nanao, who was still staring at Yamamoto with frank directness, her previous apprehension replaced by a new agitation. Before anyone else could speak, the gray-robed served entered the alcove, this time staying a few more feet away from the table than usual, bowing for a long moment to Yamamoto.

"We're honored by your presence, Captain-General Yamamoto-san," she said shakily, her fingers nervous on the menus in her hand as she straightened.

"We'll take a bottle of your finest saké, and you can leave the menus," he told her, nodding as she bowed again.

"Yes, Captain-General." She left immediately.

Shunsui couldn't keep the disappointment from his tone, but neither could he bring himself to attempt dismissing his elder. "We weren't expecting you, General."

"Hmm? I imagine not." Yamamoto's gruff look descended on Nanao's one of half-fright. "Is this a match?"

Shunsui and Nanao looked to each other in mutual indecision for a moment, and then Shunsui answered. "Well, not exactly a match so much as an arrangement," he said, ready to expound on the wording when Yamamoto interjected.

"Arrangement? Hmm, well that's not precisely what I'm looking for, either," he said, hand tightening on the cane he held at the side of the table. "As duty-bound and suitably proper as your vice-captain is, Kyouraku, she isn't what I imagined you'd offer for my match."

Shunsui lost all tightness in his face for a fleeting second, his lax jaw sagging before he found the sense to make an expression of control. "I hadn't planned to match you with Nanao, General. We were --"

"Not Vice-Captain Ise?" Yamamoto sighed, eyes resting on the startled woman until she wanted to melt and slink away. "Who had you in mind then?"

Shunsui watched the man across from him, his many years of his senior's company now coming to his aid. His former instructor's humor was barely discernible, even under scrutiny, when he expressed it at all, and usually it was at Shunsui's expense, making him blind to it until too late. But this time he caught the older man's subtle intimation. He grinned at the older man.

"Who would you propose, Yamamoto?"

"Hmm, cordial, are we, Shunsui?" Yamamoto said, fingering one of his long drooping whiskers.

Shunsui smiled wider, his arm going along the back booth behind Nanao, feeling her lean slightly against him, her face still one of unease.

"You say my Nanao isn't quite your ideal, no offense, Nanao," Shunsui said to the petite woman -- who was doing her best not to cower -- before turning back to the other captain, "and we haven't found your first match yet, General, so your input would be helpful."

Yamamoto's eyes narrowed on Shunsui's knowing grin. "Well, I've always admired the graceful strength and propriety Captain Unohana has brought to her work and my tea ceremonies," he said slowly. "On the other hand, I enjoy what Vice-Captain Kusajishi brings to the ceremonies, too. Vibrant and lively in her chirping voice so happy to see whatever sweets my table offers. She's quite energetic, and that revives an old spirit. But of course she's out of the question."

"Of course," Shunsui said, nodding as Nanao sank into the hollow of his arm, quite by accident, he was sure, but welcome nonetheless.

"And while I do appreciate the decorum and poise of your lieutenant," Yamamoto said with a nod to Nanao, who nodded back, "and diligently read her articles on moderation every week, I believe you've made it clear she's off limits. Correct?"

Shunsui cleared his throat, feeling Nanao turn to look at him questioningly. "Something like that, yes, General."

Yamamoto nodded, one bony finger tapping on his cane head. "I suppose that leaves only Vice-Captain Matsumoto."

Shunsui's arm flinched tighter on Nanao's shoulder, an involuntary reflex that surprised them both. "You'd like to be matched with Rangiku? I mean, Vice --"

"By the gods, no," Yamamoto mumbled, eyes shifting to the dining room, but unable to spot the lieutenant in mention. He looked back to Shunsui. "I'm not a young man anymore, but I can appreciate a beautiful woman. Looking at her is enough." His eyes lowered on Nanao. "That stays at this table, lieutenant."

Nanao nodded numbly.

"So we seem to be agreed," Yamamoto said, sighing. "Aren't we?"

Shunsui shook his head slowly. "Agreed to what?"

"That there is no _single_ woman in all of Soul Society for me, Kyouraku." He made a throaty growl. "Not even any romantic fan fiction out there for me." A smile stretched his whiskers. "It's been a pleasure just watching you squirm the last week, Shunsui." He looked to Nanao. "Do you know this is the first time in five decades your captain has been punctual to two Gotei Thirteen meetings _in a row_?"

She shook her head, blinking.

He nodded, chuckling at Shunsui, standing up as the server returned with a tray and his order. He glanced at the help and nodded to the table. "Just leave it."

"Yes, Captain-General." The server set the tray on the table with shaky hands and then bowed and ducked out of the alcove.

Yamamoto turned back to Shunsui and Nanao. "Good evening, Captain, Vice-Captain."

"Good evening, Captain-General," Shunsui said as Nanao tried to find her voice.

Yamamoto left out the entry way, one hand unhooking the swag of foliage so that it fell across the opening behind him after he passed through.

For a few moments Shunsui and Nanao sat silent in the booth, her in half-shock, he in confusion and relief. Finally she sighed and leaned back against his arm behind her. He looked down to her, grinning slowly as she allowed a small smile up at him.

"He was bluffing."

She nodded, ease washing over her, focusing more closely on him now before she sat straighter. His fingers tightened on her shoulder, making her face him.

"I hope that your coming tonight is in answer to my question, Nanao," he said lowly, watching her eyes drop to her hand on the table as his fingers cupped under her fingertips, barely a touch as his thumb rested on them. "It is, isn't it?"

She nodded slowly, taking a moment to collect her thoughts before looking to him. "I was ashamed I hadn't read the letter sooner, Shunsui," she admitted. "And then after I did..." Her eyes rested on his lips, feeling his arm inch her closer until she was deep in his embrace. His other hand reached to the candle and pinched out the short flame there, leaving the alcove in dim light from beyond the shrouded greenery veils.

"You're here now, Nanao," he said in a gentle tone, his other arm encompassing her waist, pulling her closer, feeling the rigidity leave her form. "I am very serious about you in my future."

She let her hands rest lightly at his sides, and then slip beneath the haori to his back, her pulse quickening as he pressed her fully to him. For a moment she was caught against him, feeling his heart beat against hers, the straw hat hovering over both of them, a natural contentedness that seemed as accepted as if it had happened countless times before.

He closed the few inches of space between them, his lips meeting hers in a firm kiss that she met with tremulous lips that softened into supple eagerness beneath his warm breath, fingers pressing into his back, pulling him nearer, musk mingling with sandalwood. For a long moment he held her to himself, her lips matching his in increasing fervor until a sound at the alcove entry made them part, both looking to the astonished server who'd come for their orders.

"My apologies, Captain Kyouraku! Vice-Captain!" the girl nearly shrieked, turning and fleeing back out the entry, jerking free wisps of ivy that trailed after her wake.

Shunsui looked back to Nanao, who wore a blushing smile, her glasses slightly hazy, her clutch on his back still anchoring him to her. He smiled wide, leaning down until the brim of his hat touched the top of her head.

"Is this a yes to a second date, sweet Nanao?"

She nodded, sighing as his hand moved up her back, resting at the nape of her neck, fingers gentle on her hair, surprising herself at how a simple nod gave her such hope.

"To many more, Shunsui."

* * *

**Authors' Note:** Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, and offered suggestions for this story! Thanks especially to _Bakabara, Thunderwolf66, chibi chan, archiemouse, unevilgirl, breezybiatch, AriellePevensi, k, Bubblewrap Leech, kateison, ShiraGetsu, kawaii chan, Ichimaru3Gin, Mirwen Sunrider, *Illegitimi, *ThierryMist, VioTanequil, anon, hehe, wow, random reviewer, Perennial Lurker, *kaibasgirlx, staidwaters, BleachIsMyCrack116, *EchoLoco, K, EulaliaGal, waterfall42, StarBK201, Vivienne Granger, PiFace314, flOofmykO, saki, HamakoKaiba, TaoueriT, Batsu Espada, Kira michi, Drowning Torrent, Maelie, *Kira'sDarkLight, FOEVA, Panther X, darkangel1910, unknown reviewer, kawaii neko, Avith, Woot!, AlaeaMori, Riley, sailor sama, I-Like-WAFFLES, anonymous, Pet Darkling, FlowerGirl82, lelouchgurl, Time To Make It Rain, gailzer, debbijedigirl, Mayu, moon mysteri, CloneGirl, Shadowblayze, Kenta Divina, ILikeUdon, White Tigress18, StoryTimeAfterRegret, ElfishScallywag, mj0521, Amciel, mauralucky7, Vichy, feroniawings, Yuuko, kuroi san, diekomposer, Veldare, neko sama, asdasf, Soni758, DoilyRox, Kuramori, YesAnimeCharactersCanBeSexy, shuusake, mec, resting sideline, up-down, spitfire2962, Umiko, RosieLEK, Kenta Divina, anonymous abq, Pariis Lights, KeepSmilingItMakesPeopleWonder, Armonia Justina Beyondormason, MozartsMuze, Raine20oo, Ginko, oscurasinkblot, asdfsdf, Cream, berry0chan, Stray Princess, Chillis, and Xapita._


	38. Just a Thank You

This is NOT A CHAPTER or UPDATE:

We'd like to say thank you to the anonymous reviewers, and others who 'favorited' this story since it was completed.

Due to Illegitimi's "**Quantum Mechanics**", we feel the need to say thanks to those of you who have reviewed anonymously.

Thank you to **mec**: Fun chapters to write.

Thank you to **Something**: Yeah, well, slim pickin's among the rich and famous. Byakuya will have to study-up on, well ..._ some things_ ...

Thank you to: Notchka, DoilyRox, The Eville Pie, Markus Wolfe, and Firearm-Alchemist for their reivews after the final _thank-yous_ were out.

Always the best wishes,

x nihilo - C. Jordan, Renji's Girll, and Sensei7 -


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